Black fine line lettering tattoo wrapped in a circle around the ankle, with handwritten script words set around a blank centre.

Circular script quote on an ankle

Fine line · Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

A foot and ankle rest on a wooden floor, showing a circle of thin black handwritten script around the ankle bone. The lines are fine and even with solid black ink and no shading, and the words run around the circle in mixed orientations. The image is in black and white, with the tattoo as the clear focus against the skin.

Fine line Lettering Ankle Script Quote Circle Word Ankle

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The fog had rolled in off the Sound before noon, thick as wet wool, and by dusk the lamp on Carrick Mhor had stopped turning. Ailsa Gorm stood at the foot of the iron stair with a tin of paraffin on her hip and listened to the sea working at the rocks below. Somewhere above her in the murk the great lens sat dark, and the ships out there had no way of knowing where the skerries ended.

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Her father lay in the cottage with his chest rattling like a loose shutter. The clockwork that turned the light ran on a weight, and the weight had to be hauled up the tower every four hours. One hundred and twelve steps, her mother used to say, and every one of them goes round, so you never see the top until you are on it. Her father had told her the same thing when she was small, and when she asked him what to do if she got lost in the turning, he had only said, the only way out is through, and then fallen asleep.

She climbed. She counted the steps aloud because counting kept her legs moving, and at each turn the wall of the tower leaned close and the air grew colder and wetter. At the top the glass was beaded with fog and the brass ring of the mechanism was slick under her palms. She wound the weight until her fingers bled into the grease and the old wheels groaned and began, at last, to move. Out in the dark a horn sounded, faint and then closer, and then another answered it.

At first light the fog lifted off the water like a sheet pulled from a bed. Ailsa sat on the gallery with her back against the rail and watched the boats come in one by one, their wakes drawing neat white lines across the grey. Then she started down the stair, round and round, counting again, and at the bottom she found her father awake at the cottage window, watching the tower where the light was turning.