Black silhouette tattoo of a flying figure, three smaller trailing figures and two stars across a woman's upper back, near the shoulder blade.

Silhouetted flying figures and stars on upper back

Back · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo shows solid black silhouettes of a figure flying upward toward two four-pointed stars, with three smaller figures trailing behind in a curved line. The shapes are filled with solid black ink and show no visible shading, and the composition sweeps diagonally from the lower left toward the upper right of the back. The photograph is taken outdoors, with the subject's back turned to the camera and her face not shown.

Back Silhouette Star Flying figure

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit yourselves down on the bollards, the lot of you, and mind that gull eyeing your crisps. No, I'll not tell it the way the schoolmaster does. He leaves out the cold.

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The harbour folk of Carrick Quay said the Brannock girl could fly before she could walk, and that the sea gave her two stars for eyes the winter her mother drowned. Nobody living saw her take off. Old Tam Pellow saw the three littlest Fenn boys go up after her, though, the night the fog came in thick as porridge and the boats were still out past the Mare Rock.

They went up off the end of the breakwater one after another, like kites on a single string. The smallest, Davy, had only one boot on, and the boot dropped into the water with a noise like a penny going down a drain. Tam swears the stars grew brighter the moment the boy's toes cleared the spray, hanging over the fog like two lanterns on a mast.

She flew them straight over the bar to where the Gull Mary was wallowing, and set her light on the wheelhouse roof so her father could find the way in. Then she stood on the rail with the fog up to her knees and waved them home. Davy's boot came ashore on the slipway a week later, and it hangs on a nail in the harbour office to this day. On fog nights you can hear it knocking on the glass, asking to be let in.