Two matching traditional-style tattoos on the tops of bare feet, showing a haloed figure in blue holding a record and a bearded haloed figure in red holding a book, framed by flowers and leaves.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Traditional religious figures on both feet

Traditional · Other · Colour · Photo

Two matching tattoos sit on the tops of bare feet, each showing a haloed religious-style figure above a cluster of green leaves and a single flower. The figure on the left wears blue robes and holds a vinyl record, while the figure on the right wears red robes and holds a book with the word KISS on its cover. Bold black outlines, flat areas of saturated colour and a radiating halo above each figure give the designs a classic traditional look against a dark, reflective surface.

Traditional Other Halo Book Flower Leaves Kiss Feet

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The snow came down thick over the lower field the week the auction men cleared the old Harker place, and Dad came home with two things in a feed sack: a hymn book with a broken spine and a record in a sleeve so faded the cover had gone the colour of weak tea. He dropped the sack on the kitchen table between the teapot and the eggs and said nothing at all, which was how we knew he had paid too much.

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Eddie wanted the record. I wanted the book, mostly because its cover had a picture of a bearded man holding it open as if he had just found his place, and someone had coloured the pages in green crayon. Mum said neither of us was touching anything from a dead man's house until it had been washed in the copper. So we sat in the cold scullery turning them over, reading the sleeve notes out loud in silly voices until the boiler clicked on.

The record was not hymns. It was a dance band with a woman singing about a train that never stopped at our station, and inside the sleeve, tucked behind the cardboard, Eddie found a pressed flower and a note in pencil: Meet me at the gate, Sunday, if the thaw comes. Nobody had signed it. Dad said the Harkers had no daughter, which did not stop Eddie from finding a daughter in every hedge.

That night, with the windows furred white and the lamp turned low, Mum took the record from its sleeve and set it spinning on the old machine. Nobody had ever seen her dance. She did not dance that night either, not properly. She only stood at the sink with the tea towel over her shoulder, humming the wrong words, and when the needle found the train again she held out her hand to Dad, who looked at it for a long time before he took it.