Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Two red hearts on inner wrist
Forearm · Mixed · Photo
A small tattoo of two red hearts sits on the inner wrist, with the second heart enclosed in black curved brackets. The hearts are filled with solid red ink and outlined in thin black linework. The pale skin and plain background, with painted drips and partly visible handwritten text on the wall behind, keep the focus on the tattoo.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
The big top had three poles left and a tent that smelt of wet canvas and old popcorn, and Mrs Ostrander still insisted the ringmaster's velvet be pressed every Saturday. I was the one with the needle. Nobody else had stayed on past the autumn the lions were sold to a farm near Shrewsbury, so the stitching fell to me, and to Dominic, who juggled badly and mended better.
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He had a habit of drawing on things. Programme margins, the backs of unpaid invoices, the steamed-up window of the caravan we shared with the strongman's dog. Two hearts, always, one plain and one wrapped in brackets. When I asked why, he said the plain one was the act and the bracketed one was the audience, sitting just outside the light, clapping quietly because it couldn't come in.
I thought it was daft. Then in March the council letter came, the field where we'd wintered was to be ploughed, and Dominic went quiet in a way I didn't like. He packed the trunk with the spare sequins and left the rest. On the last night I found a handkerchief folded on my bunk, a red heart stitched in one corner, and beside it, in pencil, the same two hearts with their brackets drawn carefully around the second one.
I still have the handkerchief. The big top went to a scrapyard in Crewe. I stitch for a dry cleaner now, and when a customer asks why I keep a faded square of cotton pinned above my bench, I tell them it's a joke about the audience. I never tell them which of us was sitting on the outside.
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