Small black fine line tattoo of a revolver on the side of a knee, in a close photo of a leg.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small revolver tattoo on a knee

Fine line · Other · Black and grey · Photo

A small outline tattoo of a revolver with a short barrel and a cylinder detail sits on the side of a knee. The linework is thin and uniform in black ink, with no shading or fill. The skin is pale and slightly flushed around the knee, and the background is out of focus.

Fine line Other Revolver Gun Pistol Outline

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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

You find the revolver wrapped in a tea towel at the back of the airing cupboard, behind the spare eiderdowns and a tin of Ovaltine that has outlived two landladies. The landing smells of Brasso and wet gulls. Down past the banisters the sea is doing its grey business against the sea wall, and Mrs Pellow is singing a hymn to the bread knife in the kitchen.

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It is smaller than you expected, almost a toy, its barrel no longer than your little finger and the cylinder ringed with tiny notches like a comb. You carry it down to the parlour, where the lodgers play cribbage beneath a painting of a lighthouse that has never once been lit. Harold, who keeps a tin of pear drops for every occasion, takes one look and says it belonged to a Gunner Crane, who lodged here the summer of 1946, left owing six weeks, and lost a bet on the regatta to a man he never paid.

Nobody has loaded it since. You turn the cylinder and every chamber is empty, but tucked into the wooden grip is a folded bus timetable with one departure circled in pencil, the 4.15 to Exeter, and beside it a single word in capitals: LATER.

You leave the revolver on the cribbage board with the pegs still standing. Outside the wind is pushing the gulls about like loose paper, and the bus shelter at the top of the hill smells of diesel and somebody's chips. The bus is late. You find you do not mind. For the first time since the rent stopped, nothing in the house is pointing at you.