Colour realism tattoo of a woman with blue sugar skull face paint, blood tears and a keyhole on the mouth, framed by blue lace on the forearm.

Sugar skull woman with lace frame on forearm

Realism · Forearm · Colour · Photo

A woman's face with blue sugar skull make-up, a red-lipped mouth, a keyhole on the chin and blood running from both eyes, framed by a blue lace border set with red gems. Smooth, detailed shading and rich skin tones sit against a warm orange background of skin. The close, vertical composition shows the forearm with the face tilted upwards.

Realism Neo-trad Forearm Sugar skull Woman Face paint Lace Keyhole Blood Gem

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

You find the controlled drugs key where it always is, on a loop of blue lanyard under the sluice sink, and you stand for a moment with it warm in your palm while the ward hums around you. It is ten past three. Somebody's call bell has been ringing for six minutes because Bev has gone down to A&E, and the healthcare assistant is on his break with a sandwich he has not yet unwrapped.

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The cupboard door sticks at the top, as it always does. Inside, the boxes sit in rows like Sunday hats, each with a name in biro and a line in the book you will have to sign twice. You count twice, because the book has a habit of lying after midnight. The keyhole is worn pale at its edge, the way brass goes on an old church door, and you think of your gran's biscuit tins, each labelled in her looping hand, and how she never once let anyone else open them.

Back in the bay the bell has stopped. Mrs Lindqvist is sitting up with a bandage at her wrist, watching you come in with the tray. She says, "You took your time," and you say the cupboard was stiff, which is true. She laughs, which she has not done since Monday. You hold out the cup and her hand is steady. Beyond her window the first grey is creeping over the car park, and a single van pulls in with its headlights still on.

At handover you write it all down: the times, the counts, the key returned to its hook. On the way out you pass the mirror by the lift and catch your own face under the strip light, tired and bright at the edges, and for once you do not look away.