Small black lightning bolt tattoo in fine line style on the outer side of an ankle.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small lightning bolt on an ankle

Fine line · Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

A close photograph of a bare leg showing a tiny black zigzag mark on the outer side of the ankle, resembling a lightning bolt. The lines are thin and solid with no visible shading. The ankle rests on a blue textured blanket, and the small mark sits near the centre of the frame.

Fine line Ankle Lightning bolt Zigzag

Find an artist for this

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

Sit down, the pair of you, and stop kicking that bench, it's older than your mothers. The kettle's not boiled and I'm not telling it twice, so hush. Right. Hallam Junction, the August the bridge went up in its own sparks.

Keep reading

The storm came over the moor at half past five with the sky the colour of wet slate. Ada Pell was station mistress then, and she had a lamp in one hand and the ledger under her arm when the wire above the down platform took the strike. It sang like a struck bell. Teddy Quarles, who was fourteen and thought himself a man, was standing on the points with a shovel, and the light ran down the iron rail beside him in a crooked line, quick as a dropped stitch, and burned a black zigzag into the cinders at his boots. He lost a good deal of his eyebrows that night. He kept his nerve, mind, and that's the truer miracle.

Ada didn't scream. She set the lamp down, walked over to the mark, and looked at it the way you'd look at a letter from someone you were fond of and cross with. Then she threw the points herself and stopped the 6.14 two hundred yards short of a bridge that had lost its spine, and forty souls who would have been reading their last timetables in the river stepped down onto gravel instead.

She kept a pencil drawing of that mark tucked inside the back cover of the ledger until the day she retired. Every time the 6.14 came through on time after that, she'd tap the page with one finger and say, 'Not yet, love.' And the kettle's boiled now, so go on, fetch the cups.