Fine line black tattoo of round glasses and a lightning bolt on the inner forearm near the wrist.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Round glasses and lightning bolt on wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A black tattoo of round-rimmed glasses with a small lightning bolt above them, placed on the inner wrist. The thin, even outlines are simple and uniform, with no shading or fill. The warm, sepia-toned photo shows the skin centred against a dark fabric background.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The frost had got into the water trough again, and Dad was swearing at the ice with the back of the hammer while I held the torch. That was when the biscuit tin turned up in the loft, pushed under a heap of old feed sacks. Inside were a pair of round wire spectacles, the lenses gone cloudy, and a little paper bolt cut from a seed packet, its edges furred with damp.

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Nobody in the family would say whose they were. Gran only ever said the glasses had been mended with cotton so many times that the cotton was all that held them together. I tried them on at the kitchen table while the Aga ticked, and the room swam. Through the window the yard was a grey smear, and the ewes were bunched against the far wall, breath rising off them like smoke from a dying fire.

Dad came in stamping snow off his boots, saw the tin, and went quiet. He said Gran used to walk the top field every night the winter her brother didn't come home from the pass, and that she'd left a lantern lit in the byre so he could find the way back if he ever did. He said lightning split the old ash the same week, and she swore she'd seen the sky write her brother's name on it. He didn't say which brother. He folded the spectacles, put them back in the tin, and set the paper bolt on top.

Next morning the trough was clear, and I had broken the ice myself with the heel of my hand, the way she always did. I left the byre light burning all night, just in case.

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