Colour tattoo on the inner forearm near the wrist, reading dad's angel in blue lettering with an orange halo and a small red sparkle.

Dad's angel script with halo on a wrist

Lettering · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

The tattoo shows the words dad's angel in blue script with dark outlines, with a gold halo sitting between the two lines of text. A small red sparkle marks one point on the halo. The lettering and halo have bold, even outlines and flat fills, and the photograph is taken straight on, with the tattoo filling most of the frame against a blurred shop background.

Lettering Forearm Halo Angel Sparkle Script Text

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The halo arrived at the Fettling Office on a Tuesday, bent like a bicycle wheel after a hedge, and Sorrel Vance peered at it over her spectacles as if it had personally insulted her. It had been issued to Dennis Fairbrother, angel second class, for a terraced street in Hull, where the paperwork described his charge as dad's angel because a seven-year-old had insisted on the wording in biro across the form. Dennis had never once been late for a shift. He had, however, been flattened by a cricket ball, a loose gutter and a dropped trombone in the space of one autumn.

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Sorrel sent for him. He came in smelling of chip fat and cold air, turning his cap in his hands, and explained that the lad had been swinging off the washing line on a rope made from a dressing gown cord. Dennis had grabbed the rope, the rope had grabbed the halo, and the halo had gone around the clothes prop twice before anyone could stop it. 'He was laughing, Mrs Vance,' Dennis said. 'Proper laughing. His dad came out with a tea towel and said angels don't mind being bent a bit, so long as they come back up.'

Sorrel wrote something on the form, then crossed it out. She ordered a replacement from stores, a shiny new one with no dents and a very good polish, and then, after a long moment, she wrote 'keep, dented' on the old one's tag and sent it back down with Dennis. He hung it on the nail by the back door of that house in Hull, where the morning light came through the kitchen window and caught it exactly on the one bent place, throwing a small bright spark onto the lino every time someone came in from the garden.