Two matching fine line stick figure tattoos on a pair of legs, one with striped dress and ponytail, the other with a polka dot dress and bun, each with a small red heart.

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Two matching stick figure tattoos on legs

Fine line · Other · Mixed · Photo

Two matching stick figure tattoos sit side by side on skin near the knees. Each figure is drawn in thin black fine line work, with one wearing a striped dress and a ponytail and the other wearing a polka dot dress and a bun, and both have a small red heart on the chest. A partial black dotted tattoo with a musical note sits lower down on the right leg.

Fine line Other Stick figure Heart Dress Polka dot Stripe Musical note Dot

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The snow shut the moor road by four o'clock, and Mrs Akroyd put Maud and me in the back room by the bread oven because it was the only one whose lock still worked. Maud pushed her fiddle case under the bed like a sleeping dog. I sat on the sill with my whistle in my apron pocket and a bruise on my shin from the carrier's cart, counting the flakes that hit the glass.

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Downstairs the taproom was quiet in the way of people who have run out of news. The carrier, two sheep farmers and a widow who knitted without looking at her needles sat under the smoke-black beams. Maud tapped the bannister with a wooden spoon, one, two, three, and I answered on the whistle, and within a quarter hour the whole room was clapping on the wrong beat. Mrs Akroyd grumbled about the price of candles, then fetched her late brother's mandolin from the cupboard. It had only four strings, but it kept time.

By morning the drift had buried the step to the sill, and we still had half a tune between us. Maud wanted the bright stripes in it, I wanted the dots, and we argued over the bar lines in chalk on the dresser until the widow tore a blank page from her pattern book and wrote the thing out clean. When the plough finally came grinding up the lane at noon, we shouldered our bags and went out without saying goodbye to anyone.

At the window of the back room, someone, maybe the widow, had scratched the first bars into the frost with a hairpin. Looking back from the top of the hill, I could see two lines of boot prints in the new snow, one long stride and one short hop, keeping time all the way down to the road.