Two hands with traditional tattoos: a red rose with green leaves on the left hand and a colourful crescent moon with a face and flowers on the right hand.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Rose and crescent moon on two hands

Traditional · Hand · Mixed · Photo

Two hands are shown side by side, each with a traditional-style tattoo on the back. The left hand has a red rose with green leaves and a long stem, with solid outlines and flat fills. The right hand has an orange and yellow crescent moon with a stylised face, surrounded by green leaves, pink and white flowers. The background is dark, and the lighting is even and clear.

Traditional Hand Rose Leaves Stem Crescent moon Moon Face Flower Petal

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Marguerite had been counting coins into the tobacco tin since midnight, and the roses in the last two buckets had started to go soft at the edges. Her brother Dez hosed the pavement outside the van with the lazy patience of someone who had nowhere else to be. Canal Street was almost empty. A taxi idled at the lights and a fox crossed in front of it as if it owned the road.

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They had done each other's hands at seventeen, in their nan's kitchen, with a sewing needle and a bottle of ink that smelled of pencil shavings. Dez had wanted a rose because it was the flower their father brought home on Fridays, usually wilted and always apologetic. Marguerite had wanted the moon, lopsided and sleepy, the way it hung over the gasworks when she walked home from the fish factory. Their nan said they would regret it. Nan had been right about most things, which was why they kept the marks.

At ten to two a man in a damp green coat came round the corner, eyeing the buckets as if they might be a trick. He wanted a single rose, he said, for a woman at the bus station who was leaving on the five o'clock to Carlisle. Dez began to name the price. Marguerite pulled out the thorniest stem, wrapped the stalk in yesterday's newspaper and pressed it into the man's hands without taking his coin.

When he had gone, Dez raised his eyebrows at her. She held out her right hand and turned it to the sodium lamp, so the orange light caught the moon's cheek and the little white flowers beside it. 'There,' she said. 'Somebody has to be the light on this street.' Over the gasworks the sky was already greying, and the moon on her hand, which had never once lit anything, looked pleased with itself.