Tiny fine line tattoo of an orange clownfish with black outline on the inner forearm, against a blue crumpled background.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small clownfish tattoo on the forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A very small clownfish is tattooed on the inner forearm near the wrist, shown in side view and facing left. The fish has a thin black outline with orange fill and pale stripes left as skin. The plain skin tone and blue crinkled backdrop keep the focus on the small design.

Fine line Forearm Fish

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Nobody aboard the Patience could say who had wedged the biscuit tin under the gunwale at Gainsborough, only that it rattled through every lock and Dorrit kept threatening to pitch it in the cut. When I finally prised the lid off with a bent teaspoon, a fish no longer than my thumb looked up at me through a smear of river slime. It was orange as a cut peach, banded with three pale stripes, and it wore a black outline so fine it might have been drawn with the end of a coal.

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I kept it in a jam jar on the galley shelf and fed it crumbs from the morning loaf. Dorrit, who had worked coasters before she came inland, said it was a clownfish from warm water, where it sheltered among stinging anemones and nothing could touch it. 'Fresh water's no place for a thing that wants a tent to hide in,' she said, tapping the glass. A deckhand off a Rotterdam steamer had probably brought it home as a dare, she reckoned, then lost his nerve.

By the third week it had stopped darting at the crumbs. Its stripes had gone dull as candle wax and it hung near the bottom with its fins pressed flat. So on the ebb one grey morning we ran down past Goole to where the Trent gave itself to the Humber, and I carried the jar onto the foredeck with both hands. I tipped it gently over the side and the fish slid out in a rush of brown water.

It hung in the current a moment, then turned its head towards the open estuary and flicked once, a stroke of orange under the murk. Dorrit leaned on the rail beside me. 'There's your anemone,' she said, and went back to the tiller. I stayed out there until the flash was gone and there was only mud, wind, and a long line of gulls heading out to sea.