Colour neo-traditional tattoo of a purple-maned unicorn with a red rose, pink hearts and green sparkles on the inner forearm near the wrist.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Unicorn and rose on the inner wrist

Neo-trad · Forearm · Colour · Photo

The tattoo shows a unicorn head in profile with a pink horn and a flowing purple mane, with a red rose and dark green leaves below its neck. Small pink hearts and green diamond sparkles sit around the design. The bold dark outlines, dotted detailing on the neck and flat colour fills give it a neo-traditional look, and the motif is centred on the inner forearm close to the wrist.

Neo-trad Forearm Unicorn Rose Heart Sparkle Mane Horn Leaves

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mind the crisps, they've gone soft in the bowl, and sit down before Gary tries to take the good chair again. Right. You all remember Miss Pryce's Thursday club, the one in the cold annexe with the broken radiator? The unicorn came in through the coat hooks that winter, and nobody believed Dawn Tilley when she said so, because Dawn also swore the dinner ladies were spies.

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It was a grey thing, pale as wet paper, with a mane the colour of the bruise on your shin after netball. It wouldn't touch the sandwiches. It liked roses, though, and the only rose in the whole building was the one Mr Okafor kept in a jam jar on the windowsill, pink as a boiled sweet. Every morning the petals were a little more gone, and every morning the unicorn stood nearer the glass with its nose to the cold, sighing like a kettle that would not boil.

So we made a bargain, the way children do, with more spit than sense. We would find it a rose of its own if it would carry the register down to the field gate and back without once looking at the hedge. Dawn wrote the terms on the back of a maths test and we all signed under her name. The unicorn nodded, very slowly, then walked straight through the gym wall, leaving a horn-shaped hole in the plaster that the caretaker never did fill.

Forty years on, I still have the sparkle it left on the sill, three little green diamonds that never quite rubbed off the wood. Dawn swears she saw it trot across the hockey pitch with a pink rose tucked behind one ear, and that it was laughing, which I don't believe, though I'll admit the windows rattled. Pass the crisps, then. Somebody has to finish the story, and it may as well be the one who kept the jam jar.