Black block lettering reading Face your fear, accept your war runs down a person's forearm, with military vest and camouflage trousers visible behind.

Face your fear quote on forearm

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

The photograph shows a forearm with a tattoo of the words FACE YOUR FEAR and ACCEPT YOUR WAR in two lines of black block lettering that runs along the length of the arm. The person wears a tan tactical vest with pouches, a skull patch and a rifle magazine, with camouflage trousers below, against a cloudy, sunset-lit sky. The image is in black and grey tones with a warm light, and the framing cuts off the head.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The rain had got under the tarpaulin again, so Tomasz pushed the sag off the awning with a broom handle and wiped his brushes on a rag that was already wet. Stall nine, Saturday market, Ferry Street. Most people wanted their name on a mug or a price on a chalkboard. Nobody wanted anything they had to think about.

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The young man who came at noon did not look at the mugs. He unfolded a slip of paper so many times the creases had gone soft as cloth and smoothed it on the counter with two fingers. Two lines, capitals, plain, no curls. Tomasz read them twice: FACE YOUR FEAR, then ACCEPT YOUR WAR. He had lettered funeral boards and pub signs for men who had since died, and he had learned that the words people chose told you less than the care they took over the spacing.

He asked for a strip of seasoned ash the length of a man's forearm. The young man laid his own arm along the counter to show him, then took it back as if he had been caught at something. Tomasz measured with a length of string, knotted it at the wrist and the elbow, and chalked the guidelines by eye. He worked through the afternoon while the rain drummed on the awning and the market emptied around him, and he did not hurry the second line.

At dusk the young man came back for the board, paid in damp coins, and tucked it under his arm like something that might spill. Tomasz watched him walk into the wet street. The first line had run a little where the water had reached it, but the second had dried sharp and black, and he could not have said which of the two he would have chosen to keep.

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