Faith script and cross on a wrist
Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo
A close photograph of a hand resting on a cream fluffy blanket, showing a small black tattoo on the inner forearm near the wrist. The word faith is written in thin, joined cursive script, with a simple cross drawn through the f and the t. The linework is delicate and even, the ink is solid black, and the pale, soft background sets off the design.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
Mind the step, that third one's loose, and sit where the wind can't find you. Right, where was I. The Skerry light had a keeper called Abel Fenwick, and he had a daughter called Nell who could never sit still in a schoolroom but could draw a line that wouldn't wobble if you set a gull's feather on it.
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The winter the fog came in and stayed, the lamp burned fine but nobody on the mainland could see it, and the boats kept finding the rocks in the dark. Abel was ashamed of that. He sat in the lamp room with his cold tea and told the sea he was doing his best. Nell carried the paraffin up the tower in a tin and listened to him.
Then one night she took the grease pencil from the logbook shelf and wrote on the inside of the glass, reversed so it would read true from the water, one joined word in her best copperplate: faith. She crossed the f and the t with two short strokes, a little cross, the way the minister did on the Sunday envelopes. Abel said it was foolishness. The fog did not lift for three days.
On the fourth morning a coble came in with its lantern still lit, rowed by two brothers who swore they had steered by a word. Nobody believed them. Nell did, and so did Abel, and that was enough to keep the light.
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