Small colour globe tattoo on the back of a person's neck, photographed from behind with hair tied up and a black printed t-shirt visible.

Small globe tattoo on the back of neck

Neck · Colour · Photo

A person is photographed from behind with their hair tied up, showing a small round globe tattoo on the back of the neck. The globe has simple outlines and uses muted teal, green and blue fills with a few lighter highlights. The background is a cluttered workbench with beads, jewellery parts and small containers, and the black t-shirt with large white block lettering fills the lower half of the frame.

Neck Globe Continent

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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

You learned the bead trade from Marisol's mother the winter the elephants were sold, sitting on an upturned crate behind the big top while the canvas dried in the rain. By June there were eleven of you left, and the posters still promised forty acts. Every morning you restrung the sequins onto costumes gone grey at the hems, working by paraffin lamp because the generator had given up somewhere outside Shrewsbury.

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The globe was Old Bertram's idea. He had painted it on the lid of the props trunk years earlier, when the show still crossed the Atlantic on a hired liner, and the continents had faded to the colour of weak tea. Now the trunk held spare tent pegs and a tin of teal glass beads you had bought with your last wage. Bertram said the sea should always be the brightest part, because that was where people looked when they were trying not to look at the ground.

The night the council inspector came, you sat on that trunk and counted the beads into a jam jar, one for every town the show had played that year. The jar was nearly full, and the route you had mapped in biro across the back of a flyer no longer went anywhere the lorries could reach. You thought about Bertram's joke, that the world was only a circle you had agreed to believe in.

In the morning you pressed a single bead into the wet paint over the Atlantic. It stuck, a small green island where nobody had planned to stop, and you left it there for the rain to find.