Black and grey photograph of a small solid airplane silhouette tattoo on a forearm, beside a knitted sleeve and a metal watch strap.

Small airplane tattoo on forearm

Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small, solid black airplane silhouette sits on the inner forearm of a person wearing a chunky knitted white sleeve and a metal watch strap. The aircraft is drawn as a simple filled shape with no visible shading or fine detail. The background shows an aircraft window and cabin lights, and the photograph is shown in black and white inside a polaroid-style frame.

Forearm Airplane Silhouette

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The last flight out of Ness Field was late again, so Ruth sat on the bench by the hangar door with a flask of tea going cold between her boots. Her father had taught her to cut aeroplanes from card when she was six, nose first and freehand, because he said a thing you could draw from memory was a thing you understood. She had never got the tailplane right. Tonight she was trying again on the back of a fuel docket, pressing so hard the pencil dented the paper.

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Across the apron the little turboprop taxied out with its beacon turning, and the light slid along its wings the way it always did. Gordon in the tower would be watching the clock. Nobody else was watching her. She folded the docket into her overall pocket and stood up before she could decide the idea was foolish.

Her father had flown the island service for thirty-one years and never once taken her up. Instead he had kept a logbook, and at the back, below the columns of hours, he drew every aircraft he had ever flown, each a solid black silhouette with the tail a fraction too large. Ruth turned the pages slowly under the hangar light until she reached the last one. There was a silhouette with nothing beneath it except a date and the words, in his square capitals, GO WHEN YOU'RE READY.

She fetched a marker from the toolbox and drew the wings in one stroke, then the tail, which came out right this time. The evening flight's engines rose to a whine across the grass. She pressed the page flat against the bench, blew on the ink, and walked out through the gate towards the windsock, already counting the steps to the end of the runway.