Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Small ladybird tattoo on wrist
Fine line · Forearm · Mixed · Photo
A small ladybird sits on the inner wrist, with a red body, black spots and a thin black outline. Two short curled lines suggest antennae, and the simple linework is drawn in a cartoon style. The red fill and black detail stand out against the plain skin of the arm, with the hand visible at the left edge.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
The ladybird came over on the bread van the week the storm took the jetty, a single red speck on the rim of a flour sack. Nobody on Scarrow paid it any mind except me, because I was eight and had nothing better to do than watch the windowsills for things that meant something. Mam said a ladybird that lands on you is a message, though she would never say who it was from.
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That summer my brother Tomas took the blue dinghy out past the skerry to fetch the ferryman's lost gull-ring and did not come back by teatime. I kept the ladybird in a jam jar with a sprig of thrift, and every hour I held it up to the window and asked which way the wind was. It walked up the glass, then down, then up again, two short curled feelers testing the air like it was reading a map nobody else could see.
On the third morning it lifted off the lid and turned north-west, straight towards the skerry. I ran the cliff path barefoot, the marram grass cutting my shins, and found the dinghy wedged on the rocks with Tomas sitting in it, the gull-ring on a string round his neck, laughing at the sea as if it had only been rude to him.
The ladybird never returned to the jar. I let it go on the sill, and by teatime it had gone, and Mam put the kettle on without a word about messages. I still think it knew the way home better than any of us did.
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