Grey botanical sunflower tattoo with script lettering above it on a woman's shoulder blade, viewed from behind while she wears a gold chain back piece.

Sunflower and script tattoo on a shoulder

Botanical · Shoulder · Black and grey · Photo

A woman is photographed from behind, showing a large sunflower tattoo on her upper back and shoulder, with a short script quote running above it. The sunflower is rendered in soft black and grey shading with defined petal linework and a shaded centre. The bright, backlit composition shows the tattoo against tanned skin, with a gold chain body piece crossing the back.

Botanical Realism Shoulder Sunflower Script Quote Chain Back

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The sunflowers along the Marrow Flats road have all turned their faces the same way by the time you reach the cattle grid, and you know without checking the mirror that the van's dust will follow you for miles. Your uncle's handwriting sits on the clipboard on the passenger seat: forty sacks, Hallam's farm, cash on the nail, and do not stop at the Dunmore junction.

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You stop at the junction anyway. The café is a single breeze-block room with a fan that clicks like a metronome, and a woman called Ines sells you coffee in a jam jar. She wipes the counter with a rag that has been wiped too many times already and asks where the seed is going. You say nowhere yet. She laughs and tells you the sunflowers never ask where they are going either. They just follow the light until it leaves them, then they bow their heads and wait for morning.

Back on the road, one sack has split. A dozen seeds have spilled into the footwell, striped grey and black like tiny pieces of a dusk you missed. You pick them up one by one and pocket a handful, thinking of the field behind you, every head tilted at the same sun, and how simple it would be to hand the lot to Hallam and drive on without looking back.

Hallam counts the money twice at the farm gate and asks whether you saw the storm coming. You say no. He says it is coming anyway, the way it always does out here. You drive home with the window down and the sun sliding into the mirror, the seeds rattling in your pocket each time the van hits a rut, and you decide, somewhere past the cattle grid, which way you are going to face.