Black and white photo of a fine line lightning bolt tattoo on the inner wrist, with a hand resting on a leather seat.

Small lightning bolt on the wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small lightning bolt outline sits on the inner wrist of a hand resting on a dark leather seat. The zigzag is drawn in thin, single black lines with no shading. The photograph is black and white, and the tattoo fills only a small part of the frame, with a ring visible on one finger.

Fine line Forearm Lightning bolt Wrist Outline

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Tomasz,

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The storm came over the ridge at ten past two, and by half past the east wing had gone dark except for the emergency strips along the skirting boards, which flickered as if they were making up their minds. I was already down in the plant room when the lightning hit the substation pole on Harrow Lane. The bang came up through the concrete floor like a dropped tray the size of a bus, and the monitors on Ward Six all chirped at once.

The backup generator should have started in ten seconds. It didn't. I stood by the transfer switch with my torch in my teeth, listening to the diesel turn over and die, turn over and die, while Sister Agnes counted breaths aloud on the ward so the night staff could hear her through the radio. Eleven seconds, twelve. On the thirteenth, the engine caught and the whole building breathed out. The ventilator on bed four settled. Somebody on the far side of the corridor started clapping, very quietly, the way people do at two in the morning.

Afterwards, with the lights steady and the logbook filled in, I sat on an upturned crate and drew a zigzag on the back of the switch sheet. Just a single line that snapped sideways twice and ran out of nerve. I thought about how the storm had been the only thing that made sense all week, a fault that announced itself loudly enough for everyone to act.

I've pinned that sheet to the corkboard by the kettle, next to the rota and somebody's cartoon of a cat in scrubs. Come and see it when you're back from Leeds. Bring the good tea, the proper one, not the stuff the trust buys.

Dev