A line-drawn vintage microphone tattoo with yellow shading on the upper forearm of a woman in a pale pink dress and blue belt.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Vintage microphone tattoo on forearm

Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A vintage microphone with a trailing cable is drawn in black linework on the upper forearm, with yellow shading on the grille at the top. A smaller grey tattoo is visible higher on the upper arm at the right edge of the frame. The photograph is taken from the chest down, showing the woman's arm, hands and pale pink dress with a blue braided belt against a plain wall.

Forearm Upper arm Microphone Cable Small tattoo

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The bride's grandmother would not let the new microphone near the wedding feast until the parish priest had blessed it, so it was Father Quill who carried it up the hall that morning, its cable looped over his arm like a lasso. Nobody in Hollin Mere had heard a voice come out of a box before. The old hall had a piano, a fiddle and a cousin who could whistle through his fingers, and that had always been enough.

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The cable ran from the wall socket by the kitchen hatch, across the floorboards, under the trestle tables and up to the stand beside the window. Ada Penhallow, who was to be married at four, tested it by saying her own name into the grille. The whole hall heard it come back to them, bigger and stranger, and her mother sat down on a stacking chair and wept into a napkin. The grille had been brass once, the caretaker said, and had gone the colour of old butter with handling.

Things went wrong, as things do. During the speeches the cable caught on the leg of the cake table and the microphone dipped towards the bride's uncle, who had been drinking since noon. He leaned in, took a breath and sang the first line of the song he had sung at every wedding for forty years. The hall roared. Ada laughed so hard she had to hang on to the cable, and that was the moment the room began to trust the thing.

After the last dance Father Quill coiled the cable neatly over his arm and hung the microphone on its hook by the kitchen hatch. The one bulb left burning caught the grille, and it looked for all the world like a small yellow moon that had decided to stay for supper.