Small black fine line tattoo of a flying saucer with a dotted beam on the inner ankle.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small UFO tattoo on an ankle

Fine line · Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

A small tattoo of a flying saucer with a dome and a short row of dots along its rim, shown with a dotted beam falling beneath it. The linework is thin and dark black, and the beam is built from stippled dots that fade downwards. The tattoo is centred on the ankle against plain skin, with the background showing a dark leather surface and green fabric.

Fine line Dotwork Ankle Ufo Flying saucer Spaceship

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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

Hush now, and mind the kettle, because this is the part where your grandfather always coughed and lost his place. The Hallet wood sits right where the lane gives up, past the sheep gate. My own mother would not take that path after dark, and her mother had told her the same, and the trees, they say, have never forgot it.

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The night in question, the miller's boy, Tom Ashby, was out after a ewe that had strayed. He looked up and saw a dish of grey light hanging above the bracken, no wider than a cartwheel, with a little dome on its top like the crown of a boiled egg. Beneath it fell a column of light, and where it touched the moss the ground lifted in tiny silver specks, as if someone had shaken pepper from a pot.

Tom did not run. He stood with his crook. Something came down that beam, with no legs he could name, and it looked at the ewe, then at him, and it counted him the way the rector counts the hymn books on a Sunday. Then it asked, in a voice like wind through a gate, whether the village still kept its bread on the hearth. Tom said it did. The thing nodded and went up the beam, the ewe going with it, and the moss stayed freckled with silver for a week.

The ewe came home two days later, fat as a pudding, with her wool shorn in a neat round patch on her back. Tom's mother called that a mercy. I call it a bill, paid in full. So if you walk past the sheep gate after dark, leave a heel of bread on the stile, and do not, whatever you do, count the stars out loud.