Black and white photo of a hand holding a cigarette, with a small outlined square tattoo on the side of one finger in a fine line geometric style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small outlined square on a finger

Geometric · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

A black and white photograph of a hand resting on a denim-clad knee, with a cigarette held between the fingers. A small, thin black outline of a square sits on the side of one finger, with light grey shading inside it. The image is tightly framed on the hand, with a darker tattoo partly visible at the lower right on the forearm.

Geometric Fine line Hand Forearm Square Outline Hand Cigarette Denim

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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

The signal lamp at Hobb's Cross had gone dark again, and Ada Penrose had to climb the ladder with the paraffin tin before the nine-forty came round the bend from Thornley. Her father had kept that lamp for thirty-one years. Since the winter he went under the cart at the level crossing, it had been hers, along with the ledger, the bell and the square of grey slate nailed above the signal box door that nobody had ever explained.

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Old Mrs Grice from the cottages said the slate was a door. Her grandmother had told her that a square of stone at a railway junction let the dead step off the platform when the trains would not stop for them. Ada laughed at that the first time, then found herself at dusk tapping the slate with her thumbnail whenever the whistle sounded, just in case. She kept a cigarette tucked behind her ear and never lit it, because her father had said a signalman needs both hands steady.

On the night of the fog, the nine-forty did not stop. Its lamps came out of the white like two coins dropped in milk, and Ada hauled the lever with both hands while the bell rang, and the engine slowed by a yard. A man in a grey coat stepped down from the last carriage, touched the slate as he passed, and walked off into the cinders without a ticket.

Next morning she found the ledger open at her father's hand: one passenger, returned, destination given as home. Ada took the cigarette from behind her ear, lit it at last from the lamp, and let it burn down to nothing on the sill while she trimmed the wick and fixed the light.