Two small red dot tattoos in a dotwork style sit on the side of the neck below the ear, with black ear studs above.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Two small red dots on the neck

Dotwork · Neck · Mixed · Photo

The photograph shows the side of a neck and part of an ear in black and white, with two small solid red dots placed one above the other below the ear. The dots are tiny, evenly sized filled circles with clean edges and no visible shading. Colour is limited to the red dots against a greyscale background, which keeps the focus on the placement.

Dotwork Neck Dot Neck

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The fog came off the moor before the last goods train, thick as wool, and Ada Corrie had only the two red lamps to show her the way down the platform. She trimmed the wicks with her thumbnail the way her father had taught her, then climbed the wooden steps to the signal box, where the levers sat cold under her palms and the window was a grey blur.

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Her father used to say a red lamp must never be trusted to light itself. So she sat with her hands on the iron and watched the lower lamp shiver, then rise, and the upper one answer it, two small coals in the murk. Far down the cutting a whistle sounded, much too close. Ada hauled the stop lever until her shoulders burned. Nothing moved. Then a voice came up out of the fog, a boy's voice, asking whether the red was for stopping or for waiting.

"Both," Ada said, though she had never been asked such a thing before. "Stand where you are and let it pass." The boy said he had been standing for a long time already, since the level crossing had taken his cart and his mother had gone on ahead without him. Ada opened the box door and held up the lantern, and the goods train came groaning through the cutting, slow as a sigh, and stopped with its wheels a hand's width from the boy's boots.

The railwaymen at Harrowgate still tell it this way: the lamps burn red for anyone who waits long enough to be seen. Ada kept both wicks trimmed until the day she retired, and the boy, grown and forgetful, came back once to ask whether the lamps were still lit. She told him they were, and that he was welcome to stand where he was.