Colour tattoo of a zombie-style unicorn pony with a pastel mane, spotted body and small bats on the inner forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Zombie unicorn pony on forearm

Forearm · Colour · Photo

A cartoon unicorn pony with a pale, glassy-eyed face, pastel pink and purple mane and a horn is shown rearing on the forearm. The bold black outlines are filled with soft pastel shading in pink, yellow, green and blue, with red spots and drips suggesting a decayed look, and small bats and bubbles sit around the head. The photograph is taken straight on against a busy floral fabric background.

Forearm Unicorn Horn Mane Zombie Bat Bubble Spots

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Now sit in under the awning, the lot of you, and mind the drips off the tarpaulin, because this is a true thing and it happened the wettest October Thursday Harcourt Street ever saw. Stall nine, between the bootlace man and the woman who sold clocks that never agreed with each other, there was a crate of toys nobody had claimed. Pastel plastic ponies, one with a horn gone soft as chewing gum, and a mane somebody had brushed down to ribbons.

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Old Mrs Pascoe, who ran the lost property tent, swore that pony had sat in that crate since the summer of the flood. Its paint had faded to the colour of weak tea and sugar mints. Then the storm came in off the estuary, the gutters choked, and the rain ran sideways under the stalls for three days. On the third night she heard hooves on the cobbles, slow and wet. Clop. Drag. Clop. She lifted her lamp and there it stood in the doorway, rearing on its back legs, one eye milky as a boiled sweet, bubbles spilling off its muzzle as if it had been swimming in the canal.

It didn't want the bats, she said, though they came along anyway, flapping out of the drainpipes to keep it company. What it wanted was its old job back. Every market morning since, it has trotted the length of the stalls at first light, letting the children climb on its freckled back and snatching up the pennies the gulls have missed. Ask the bootlace man. He pays it in laces, and it always takes the blue ones.

So if you're buying something today, mind the price tag hanging off the back of the sign. Mrs Pascoe kept the ledger, and she always said the pony was owed its share.