Spider web and mask on a thigh
Thigh · Black and grey · Photo
A person lies on a white bed holding a mug, showing a large black tattoo of a spider web with a mask shape across the outer thigh. The web is drawn in clean black lines with some solid black areas around the mask, and a small black mountain outline sits on the inner forearm near the wrist. The image is a close, softly lit crop of the torso and legs in plain white and black clothing.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
The nets came up off the Morag every Tuesday smelling of diesel and weed, and my father dumped them across the loft floor like a drowned man's coat. I had the needle by eight. By twelve I could close a mesh faster than he could swear at it.
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The worst tear that autumn was the one the rocks made off Skerry Point, a gash the size of a dinner plate with two round holes torn clean through, like a face looking up at me. Dad wanted it binned. I asked him for one afternoon. I wove new cord back across the hole in rings, working from the edges inward the way the spiders did on the byre wall, until the gap was a mask of tight knots with a black patch in the middle where the tar had gone deep.
Out past the window the mountain stood grey over the harbour, the same jagged line it had always been. Dad used it to find the grounds: peak over the chapel, cairn on the left. I used it too, counting the mornings he came up the ladder without speaking.
The Morag went out on Thursday with the mended net folded on the stern. She came back that night low in the water, and Dad stood on the quay with his hands in his pockets, looking at the patch as the crew hauled it up. He carried the net up the ladder himself and hung it on the nail above my bench, face outward, to dry.
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