Black ink fine line script reading by Grace tattooed on the inner wrist and forearm.

by Grace in script on a wrist

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

The photograph shows the words by Grace written in a flowing cursive script across the inner wrist. The linework is fine and even, with the capital G and the long tails of the letters given a slightly heavier stroke. The ink is solid black on pale skin, and the close, slightly angled framing places the lettering across the centre of the image against a dark background.

Lettering Fine line Forearm Phrase

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The note is under the tea caddy when you reach for the sugar, folded twice and written in pencil that has pressed through the paper. You know the hand before you read a word. Every capital loops back on itself as if it has been taught to show off, and Grace Lowry has never once written a plain letter when a fancy one was going.

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It says the kettle is on the hob and the bread is in the cloth. It says the cage on the number two shaft is being mended again, so you are to take the walk along the tramway rather than stand about in the cold like a fool. It says she saw Mr Dunn with his face wet at the chapel gate and she knows what that means, and that you are to come straight home after your shift, not stop at the Miners' Arms, not even for one.

You go anyway, because the shift is the shift and the coal does not care about notes. The tramway is black under your boots and the lamp throws your shadow ahead of you like someone who knows the way better. At the bottom of the drift the air tastes of iron and the men are quiet in a way that means somebody has been crying. You keep your head down and your hands busy, and you do not look at Dunn until it is time to climb.

When you finally push open the back door of Caddon Row the kettle is still warm, though the lamp in the window has burned low. Grace is asleep in the chair with the pencil still in her hand, and beside her is a second sheet, half-finished, that begins Dear and ends in the same looped name, as if she could not bring herself to write anything else. You fold it into your pocket with the first, and sit down to wait for the kettle to boil.