Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Small bicycle outline on an inner arm
Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo
A small single-line outline of a bicycle sits on the inner forearm against a pale background. The linework is thin and even, with the two wheels, frame and handlebars drawn in simple black lines and no shading. The image is black and white, with the arm cropped along its edge and the tattoo placed off centre to the right.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
Brother Anselm had taken a vow of silence, but nobody had told the bicycle. It was a black upright thing with a brass bell that rang whenever the gate swung, and it leaned against the cloister wall for thirty years before anyone asked whose it was. The abbot said it was a gift from the miller's widow. The miller's widow said she had never owned a bicycle in her life.
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On Tuesdays the brothers rode it down the lane to the river at first light, one after another, taking turns on a saddle worn smooth by other people's patience. Nobody spoke of it. The lane was steep, so the bell rang all the way down and never on the way back, which the older monks took to mean something, though they could never agree what.
The winter the river froze, a novice named Tobias arrived at the gate with a letter from his mother, who had sent him there to be quiet. He found the bicycle, wiped the rust from its chain with his sleeve, and rode it over the bridge and past the last farm before anyone could stop him. He did not come back. The bell, the brothers say, could be heard for a mile after he was gone.
Each Tuesday since, the abbot has left the gate unlatched. Each Tuesday the bell is still on its hook, and the brothers pretend not to look down the lane.
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