Realism colour tattoo of a sunset over the sea with a seashell and starfish on the upper arm of a person with long hair.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Sunset beach and shells on upper arm

Realism · Upper arm · Colour · Photo

A large colour tattoo covers the upper arm and wraps around the outer side, showing a sunset sky in orange and red above a calm sea with soft blue waves. In the foreground, shaded seashells and a starfish are rendered with detailed highlights and smooth gradients. The composition runs down the arm, with the sky at the top and the shells at the lower edge, and the photo is taken outdoors against a plain wall.

Realism Upper arm Sunset Beach Sea Wave Seashell Starfish Sky

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The lift has been broken since the Tuesday your mum rang about the gas, so you take the stairs with the shopping hooked on both wrists, counting landings under your breath to keep your lungs even. By the eleventh floor the bags have bitten two red lines into your fingers, and the door to your flat is propped open with a flip-flop because Mrs Pratt from the fourteenth is inside, making tea she has no business making.

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Your window looks down on the car park and, if you lean out far enough to get a cold ear, a thin grey strip of estuary. On the sill sits the biscuit tin your nan kept buttons in, now full of things you carried home from Margate one August: a whelk shell with a chip on its lip, a pink scallop, and a starfish that still had sand packed in its arms. Mrs Pratt watches you set the shopping down and says the tin looks lonely on a windowsill, and you say it's been there since the funeral, and neither of you says anything for a while.

At six the sun drops behind the bin store and the whole block goes the colour of marmalade. You sit on the carpet with your back to the radiator and lay the shells out in the light, one by one, the way you used to on the sand before the tide came to take the castle. A bus to the coast on Saturday costs four pounds ten return. The ticket is already in your purse, folded twice, waiting for you to stop pretending the car park is a reason to stay.

You hold the starfish up to the glass. The orange light goes straight through its arms, and for one long minute the tarmac below is wet and shining and the tide is coming in across it, slow and patient, and you let it.