Black and grey tattoo of two fluffy round creatures with big eyes and thin legs on the inside of a wrist and forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Two fluffy black creatures on a wrist

Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo shows two round, fuzzy black creatures with white-rimmed eyes and thin stick-like legs and antennae, one slightly overlapping the other. The solid black fill has soft, spiky edges around each body, and the outlines are clean and even. The photo is taken at an angle on a brightly coloured, textured play mat, with the tattoo sitting on the inner wrist and forearm.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Halfway through the customs hall at Coquelles, Nell Brannigan realised the shoebox on her knee was shifting. Not breathing, exactly. Just a soft rustle, like wet leaves under a tarp. The officer in the glass booth had asked her to open it, and she had not yet worked out how to say no.

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"Grandad's," she said. "Old things. Gifts for a museum in Lille." The officer, a man with a tired moustache and a cold coffee, lifted the lid an inch. Inside, nestled in crumpled tissue paper, were eleven black fluffs no bigger than walnuts, each with two white-rimmed eyes and legs like pipe cleaners. One had climbed to the lip of the box and was waving an antenna at him.

He looked for a long moment. Then he looked at the queue behind her, the lorries idling in their lanes, the clock above the window that said twenty to six. "Dust," he said at last. "Lots of dust, madam. Go on through." Nell did not argue. On the train she set the box on the seat beside her, and the sprites crowded to the window as the tunnel swallowed the daylight, pressing their little faces to the glass as though they had never seen the sea.

Under the Channel, with nothing to look at but their own reflections, they settled into a heap and hummed the tune Grandad used to hum over the kettle. Nell let them. She had carried them all the way from the cold house in Kent, and she thought they had earned a quiet journey.

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