Photograph of two small black outlined wings tattooed on the upper arm, with shading filling the feathers.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Two small wings on an upper arm

Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

The photo shows a pair of small wings tattooed on the outer side of an upper arm, with the wings angled away from each other. Each wing has a bold black outline with solid black shading on the feathers, and the skin around them is plain. The image is a close, slightly soft phone-style shot, with a bed sheet and dark hair visible at the edges of the frame.

Upper arm Wing Angel wing Pair

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The ovens at Hale Street were lit by half four, the same as every morning since Dad's knee gave out, and Nan's brass bell above the door still rang when nobody came in. I did the bread. My brother Owen did the buns, because he could shape a bun faster than I could apologise for being late.

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He left for Leeds on a Tuesday with the van loaded to the roof and a box of Nan's tins rattling in the back. He didn't say much at the kerb. He tapped the shutter twice, the way we used to when we were kids sneaking up for the first warm rolls, and then he was gone up Church Lane with the indicator still ticking.

After that the shop was quieter than it had any right to be. I learned to proof the dough by feel, pressing a thumb in and waiting for it to answer. Nan always said a loaf rises best when you stop fussing over it. I didn't believe her until one grey morning I stopped fussing and found two tins on the rack, greased and waiting, though I couldn't have told you who I'd put them out for.

At six the sky over the car park went the colour of weak tea. I cut a long slash into the top of each loaf, angled wide, two sweeps that opened like feathers, and left one on the sill for the bus driver who always waved. The other I wrapped in a tea towel and put in the van I hadn't seen move in a week.