Back of a person's head and neck with a realistic tattoo of torn, bloody flesh with exposed tissue and dripping blood, above a smaller tribal-style tattoo on the neck.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Torn flesh wound tattoo on the back of the head

Realism · Neck · Colour · Photo

A close view of the back of a person's shaved head and neck, showing a large tattoo of torn skin revealing layers of red and dark tissue. Red blood runs down from the wound onto the neck, and the shading is smooth and detailed with a dark background behind the opening. A smaller black tribal-style tattoo sits lower on the neck and a bright pink and blue design is partly visible at the bottom edge.

Realism Neck Blood Tribal

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The tide came in through the scullery drain the night after Mrs Pellow lost her husband to the herring boats, and by morning the whole back wall of the Larkspur Boarding House had split open like an overfilled bolster. Lodgers came down to find brine across the lino and a ragged seam of brick showing where the plaster had given way, and the smell of the harbour in every room.

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Her sister Ada said the sea was only doing what the sea does, and that a wall was a wall. Mrs Pellow took the good needle from the sewing box and a hank of red wool from the dresser, and at low water she went out onto the shingle and knelt where the wall had torn. She sewed it shut one stitch at a time, singing the names of every lodger she had ever housed, so the sea would know who it was keeping dry.

The sea answered in its own way. Each spring tide the wool went slack and the seam opened again, and each time she knelt and mended it, a little redder, until the boarders stopped remarking on it and began leaving the back door on the latch for her. Forty winters she kept at it, and the village grew used to the sight of her bent over the stones with her sleeves rolled to the elbow.

When they laid her out, a lodger from Leeds found a length of red wool wound twice round the bedpost in her room, the end still wet and cold. He walked down to the shore at dawn and saw the tide-line bright with it, a stitched thread running the length of the wall and out into the water, and he said afterwards that the sea had stopped pulling at the house from that morning.