Fine line black tattoo of a city skyline with a tall central spire, flowing into a heartbeat trace that ends in a small heart, on the inner wrist.

City skyline with heartbeat line on wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A single black outline shows a city skyline with a tall central spire, which flows into a heartbeat trace ending in a small solid heart. The linework is thin and even, in black ink only, with no shading. The tattoo sits on a pale inner wrist against a grey, textured background.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The engine had thumped through the deck for nineteen days before I stopped hearing it, and it was only when Halloran cut the revolutions that the quiet came down on us like a dropped sail. Ahead, through a wet grey haze, the city was lifting out of the sea one tower at a time. The old pilot used to say you could know a harbour by its spire before you knew it by its smell, and the tallest needle stood above the rest like a finger raised for silence.

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On the chart table I kept the barograph roll, a long paper ribbon the stylus scratched day and night. Every swell shows up on it as a jagged peak, and for nineteen days it had looked like nothing but weather. Yet when I laid it flat beside the sketch my sister had drawn of the skyline from the quay, the peaks lined up with the towers, the low warehouse roofs, then the spire. She had sent that sketch to the ship in a tin, and I had folded it into my oilskin the morning we cleared the breakwater on the far side of the world.

Halloran leaned over my shoulder and asked what I was smiling at. I showed him the ribbon. Near the end of the trace, where we had drifted in the calm waiting for the tug, the stylus had rested so long it left a small dark knot, round and solid, the only mark on the paper that wasn't a wave.

"That's where we stopped," he said. "Where we came in."

I rolled the ribbon up, put it inside my coat, and went up on deck to see who was waiting under the spire.

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