Two fists showing eight small colour tattoos on the fingers in a fine line cartoon style, including an ice cream cone, lollipop, pumpkin, pizza slice, cupcake, skull, doughnut and crescent moon.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Sweet and spooky finger tattoos

Fine line · Hand · Colour · Photo

Eight small cartoon-style tattoos sit one per finger across two clenched fists, depicting an ice cream cone, lollipop, jack-o'-lantern, pizza slice, cupcake, skull face, doughnut and crescent moon. The outlines are clean and dark, with soft pastel and bright fills in pink, orange, yellow, purple and blue. The fists are centred against a dark sleeve and a green padded surface, with pink nail polish visible at the fingertips.

Fine line Hand Ice cream Lollipop Pumpkin Pizza Cupcake Skull Crescent moon Knuckle Finger tattoo

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The hall smelled of floor polish and the sausage rolls nobody had asked for. Marnie Oakes was already at the trestle table by the urn, holding up her fists like a boxer who had lost the fight years ago, and she was laughing before I reached her. 'Go on, Ruth. Pick one. Same rules as the bus shelter.'

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The rules were ours, invented the October we were fifteen, when Mr Greaves shut the tuck shop early and we split a bag of penny sweets on the wall behind the chip shop. Whoever lost a dare had to choose a finger. Marnie had her pumpkin done by a lad in Hyde who worked out of his nan's back bedroom. I talked my way out of mine every time, right up until the summer she left for Leeds, and the pact stayed unfinished in my pocket like an old bus ticket.

I tapped the crescent moon on the smallest finger, because I had always hated being last. 'You never told me it hurt,' I said. 'It did,' she said. 'Everything we did at fifteen hurt. That was the point.' The skull on her middle finger grinned at me, and the pink doughnut beside it had faded to a whisper of colour, the way things do when they are looked at for twenty years.

Afterwards, when the chairs were stacked and the caretaker was switching off the urn, I found the penny I had carried since that October and pressed it into her palm. She closed her hand over it, eight small pictures folded into one fist, and for a second neither of us mentioned Leeds or everything in between. Then she grinned and said the moon was still the best one, and that I was still last, and that she would see me at the next one.