Small black scorpion tattoo on the outer ankle of a bare foot, shown in solid black ink with segmented legs and a curled tail.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Scorpion tattoo on an ankle

Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

A small scorpion is tattooed on the outer ankle and heel area of a bare foot, shown in its curled pose with the tail raised above the body. The design is rendered in solid black ink with simple segmented legs, pincers and tail, with little visible shading. The skin is pale and the dark, wet-looking background fills the rest of the frame.

Ankle Scorpion Foot Ankle

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The tenant in flat 14 rang the concierge desk at twenty to midnight to say his tank was empty and his scorpion was not in it. Lorna Quaye took the call on the night shift at Clement House, where the lifts groaned and the vending machine on the fourth floor hummed like it had something to confess. She had been a caretaker for nineteen years and had never once been asked to find a scorpion.

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The stairwell smelled of bleach and wet concrete. She climbed with a torch and a dustpan, sweeping the landings with the beam. On the seventh floor, under a radiator, she found it: a small black thing folded at the joints, its tail arched high over its back as if it had been asked a question and meant to answer with the sting. It did not run. It waited, the way the old men at the bus stop waited for their change to be counted.

She knelt on the lino and slid an upturned glass over it, then a folded postcard underneath. Through the glass its pincers opened and closed, slow and deliberate, like someone picking out a tune on a keyboard. Up the stairwell a door banged, a child started crying about a biscuit, and the building carried on being a building around her.

She took it down seven floors in her breast pocket, the card pressed flat against her ribs. At the back gate she tipped the glass into the dark bins, the tail still raised, a single black stroke against the orange streetlight. Then she went back up to tell the tenant the good news. She had decided, somewhere around the third landing, that she would not mention where she had put it.