Black fine line script reading be still with a small cross, tattooed on the inner wrist, in a black and white photo.

Be still script on the inner wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A close photo of a black script tattoo reading be still, followed by a small cross, on the inner wrist. The lettering uses thin, slightly tapered black linework with even spacing and a flowing baseline. The photo is black and white, with a white sleeve cuff at the bottom edge and soft grey shading across the background.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Cross

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The clock in the Corn Exchange had been losing four minutes a night since the spring, and Mr Adair would not let me touch the escapement until I had sat with it for an hour. Be still, he said, every time my fingers went for the screwdriver. Be still, and listen. So at eleven I sat on the cold iron stair with my back against the stone and a flask of tea going lukewarm, and I listened to the tower breathe.

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Below me the city ran on without us. Buses sighed at the stop on Briggate, a bottle rolled down a gutter, a man sang two lines of something and gave up. Adair had worked nights up here for thirty-one years and said the town told him its troubles through the floorboards if he kept quiet enough. I thought he was mad until the third night, when I heard the pallet fork knock once, out of time, and understood that the fault was in my own breathing, which I had been holding.

On the last night I got the thing moving again by doing nothing at all. I took the brass cover off, set my hands flat on my knees, and waited while the pendulum decided to trust me. When it found its swing I scratched a small cross into the back plate with the point of a pin, the way Adair had shown me his own years back, under the number seven. He had never said why. I did not ask him. When he came up at dawn to check my work he looked at the cross for a long moment, then at me, and said nothing, which I have come to understand was the lesson.