Black and grey realism tattoo of a revolver on the upper thigh, with a hand with black nails and a black lace top above it.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Revolver tattoo on the thigh

Realism · Thigh · Black and grey · Photo

A shaded revolver is tattooed on the side of the upper thigh, facing left with the barrel pointing towards the right. The tattoo uses smooth grey shading and fine highlights to show the metal frame, cylinder and wooden grip. The soft, sepia-toned photograph is framed close, with a hand and black lace clothing at the top of the shot.

Realism Thigh Revolver Gun

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mrs Ada Pell kept the pawnshop on Lower Castle Street for thirty-one years, and in all that time she never let a customer see her count money twice. So when the lad came in with a revolver wrapped in damp newspaper, she didn't count anything. She unwrapped it on the glass and looked at the four-inch barrel, the cylinder with its six dull chambers, and the wooden grip worn pale where somebody's palm had lived for decades.

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"Where did you get this?"

"My uncle's. He's dead, so it's mine, and I want four pounds."

She turned it over. The frame was shaded grey, fine as pencil on good paper, and the light ran along the metal like water over a weir. There was a small chip at the base of the grip, the kind a dropped thing leaves. She gave him five pounds and a ticket and put the gun in the back drawer, under the ledger, with the things she meant to remember.

For a week the drawer stayed shut. Then a woman in a black coat came in asking after a man called Harrow, and when Ada said the name meant nothing, the woman laid one gloved finger on the glass, exactly where the revolver had lain. "My husband pawned something here in March. He said he'd be back for it by Easter, and he never came."

Ada opened the drawer without a word and set the revolver on the glass between them. The woman didn't touch it. She reached into her purse, counted out four pounds in coins, then counted them again, slowly, so Ada could watch. Ada had never once in thirty-one years counted in front of anyone. She began to count too.