Black and white photo of a woman with hair across her face, showing a small fine line tattoo on the inside of her forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small mark on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A black and white photograph of a woman in a dark jacket, with her hair blown across her face and one hand raised to her face. A small, thin tattoo sits on the inside of her raised forearm, rendered in black ink with fine linework. The plain white brick wall and soft natural light keep the focus on the arm and the tattoo.

Fine line Forearm Woman Hair Jacket

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

Tuesday, 14 March. Lost property at Thornley Road has three umbrellas, a cello case with nothing in it, and a parcel of kippers nobody has claimed since Christmas. Mr Pelling from the ticket office says I should bin the kippers. I said they were evidence of somebody's hunger, and he called me sentimental, which I am, though I did not say so out loud.

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The notebook came in on the 8.15 from Leeds, handed over by a guard who found it wedged under a seat cushion. Black cover, the elastic gone. Most of it is lists in capitals: bread, batteries, call Dad. Then, near the back, a single small drawing in black ink of a bird with its wings folded tight, drawn so finely I had to hold the page to the lamp. Beneath it, in the same hand, the words 'keep it low, keep it going'. I have read that line perhaps thirty times.

I filled in the form the way the rules say. Found item, notebook, contents recorded, held for the usual period. Then I did something the rules do not mention. I wrote underneath the bird, in pencil so it could be rubbed out: 'It came in on the Leeds train. Someone may be looking for it. The counter is open until six.'

This morning the notebook was gone from the shelf. In its place was a folded slip of paper, pushed through the gap under the grille, in the same tight hand. It said only: 'Thank you. I wasn't the one who lost it. Keep the bird.' I put the kettle on and stood at the window watching the rain come in sideways across the platform, and the 9.40 pulled out with nobody on it who looked back.