Traditional style tattoo of a gravestone reading WISH YOU WERE HERE with a crescent moon, pine trees and a red flower on the top of a foot.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Wish you were here gravestone on a foot

Traditional · Other · Mixed · Photo

A traditional style tattoo on the top of a foot shows a grey gravestone with the words WISH YOU WERE HERE in black letters, flanked by pine trees, small orange flames and a crescent moon under a clouded sky. Below the stone sit a red five-petalled flower with a white centre and dark green leaves. Bold black outlines and soft grey shading give the stone and clouds depth, while the orange and red areas provide the main colour accents.

Traditional Other Moon Cloud Pine tree Flame Flower Leaves

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Maureen had dusted the postcard rack at the Tollgate Garage every morning for eleven years, and she knew every view in it by heart: the pier, the bridge at low tide, the lighthouse with its lamp painted on for the tourists. Nobody ever bought the black card with the headstone on it. Then on a wet Tuesday, just after the last bus had gone, a man in a grey coat lifted it from the spinner and set it down by the till as if it were the only thing in the shop.

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"Sixty pence," Maureen said, and he counted it out in coins that were a little too thick and a little too old. "Would you post it for me? Only I can't write the address myself, my hand's not what it was." He slid over a square of paper. Someone had printed in careful capitals: MAUREEN, THE GARAGE, LAST HOUSE BEFORE THE PINES. She laughed, the way you do when a joke goes on too long, and the strip light above them buzzed and dimmed. His shadow did not dim with it.

She turned the card over. The message was short and the ink had run in the damp. Wish you were here, it said, and beneath that, in handwriting she had not used since school, The fire's lit on the ridge. Come up and see the view. When she looked up, the bell over the door was still swinging and the grey coat was gone. The road ran empty all the way to the trees, where a small orange light kept burning in the ditch.

Maureen locked the till at ten. Before she went out she put the paper with the address in the drawer beside the stamps, under the card she had not sent. In the morning the drawer smelled of pine and smoke, and a red petal lay on the counter, five-cornered and perfectly dry.