Fine line black tattoo of a small bird with a trailing line leading to the word Believe in script on the inner wrist.

Believe script with a bird on the wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A clenched fist is shown with a small black tattoo on the inner wrist. A songbird sits on a single thin line that runs into the cursive word Believe. The linework is delicate and even, with no shading, and the plain white background keeps the focus on the design.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Bird Script Word Believe Line

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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 bird had been pulling the same thread since sunrise, and Amos Dyer had stopped asking it to slow down. The road ran pale across the Harrow Pan, a white basin of salt and heat where the wheel ruts gave out by noon and only the thread showed the way. The line was no thicker than a hair from his grandmother's loom, and it dipped and rose over the stones like a kite string.

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He had been told in Caddon Wells that the bird was a lie. Old Mercy Pell said a songbird never led anyone anywhere that wasn't already on the map, and that the word stitched after it was only what men wrote on their coffins to keep the mourners quiet. Amos had laughed and spent his last coin on a pint of water. Now the coin was gone and the water was half a cup, and the bird sat on its line, patient, waiting for him to catch up.

By the third night the mule lay down and would not rise. Amos sat beside it with the cup in his lap and watched the thread shine silver under a moon the colour of bone. He did not pray. He said the word aloud, the way a man reads a sign, and the line trembled. The bird lifted and turned back toward the far rim of the pan, where a single lamp burned in a window.

He reached the lamp at dawn. The house was empty except for a clay jug on the sill and a note in Mercy Pell's hand: Told you so. Drink, then walk back the way you came, the bird will not go further. He drank, and laughed until the sand swallowed the sound, and found the thread already slack behind him, the bird gone where birds go.