Colour tattoo on a thigh of a green pony with pink hair and dripping red blood, set within a black-outlined scrollwork frame above a small skull.

Zombie pony and skull in a scroll frame on a thigh

Neo-trad · Thigh · Colour · Photo

A green cartoon pony with pink hair and one closed eye stands in the centre of a purple and blue circle, with red dripping marks running from its body and legs. Above it, a skull sits inside an ornate black-outlined scrollwork frame with acanthus-style curls. The bold colour is mostly contained within the linework, and the frame extends around the thigh with light shading.

Neo-trad Thigh Zombie Skull Blood Scrollwork Frame Cartoon

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The pony came up from the canal wall in a bin bag at twenty past eleven, and you were the only one left in the back room of Ledger's Toy Clearance to sign for it. Mint-green, pink mane gone to rope, one eyelid painted shut by someone with a steady hand and a grudge. Nobody had written a label. The skull stencilled on its flank had bled into the plastic like a bruise.

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Dale rang from the night van to say the lorry had gone and the gate was locked, so you took it to the sink with a brush and a bottle of acetone. The red came off on your fingers, thin and warm-looking under the strip light. Beneath it the green had been painted over something older, a scrollwork frame of black gloss curling round the hooves like the ironwork on the Victorian gates at Sheaf Street cemetery. You scrubbed until your knuckles ached.

At ten to three the bell over the door rang again. Nobody was on the step. The pony was standing on the bench where you had laid it flat, and its good eye had opened. It looked at the clock above the door, then at you, with the patience of something that had spent a long time in a ditch waiting to be found.

You put the kettle on and left the lamp burning. By dawn the drips on the bench had dried into a neat row of hoofprints, and when Dale came in with his bacon roll he stopped in the doorway and asked who had been touching up the pony. You told him nobody. He said it looked finished. You said it was.