Close-up of the word Fighter in red-brown flowing script lettering across the inner forearm, with a knitted sleeve at the edge of the frame.

Fighter script on a forearm

Lettering · Forearm · Colour · Photo

The photograph shows the word Fighter in a flowing, joined script across the inner forearm, with a long capital F and looping strokes. The linework is smooth and even, in a single dark red-brown ink with no shading. The pale skin contrasts with a dark magenta background and a textured knitted sleeve at the right edge.

Lettering Forearm Script Word

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Your brother came into the shop on Thursday with the money already wrapped in a handkerchief, two shillings and sixpence, and a sheet of brown paper with the word pencilled on it twice, because he couldn't decide where the F should loop. I told him I'd do it my way. Mr Oddie had ordered the gym sign for Ashton Street in the joined copperplate he liked, the sort that makes a name look like it belongs on a ship. I mixed a lake red with a dab of burnt umber, since the tin of proper oxblood had gone solid in the cold, and I used my smallest sable because the strokes had to be thin enough to read through the fog from the tram stop.

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I did it flat, with no shading. Mr Oddie didn't want the letters to look like they were lifting off the glass. He wanted them to look like they'd been there since the building went up. I worked the long F first, then the rest of the word running on from it, the t crossed low so it wouldn't snag the r. It took the whole of Friday afternoon. When I climbed down, the light was going pink over the chimneys and the paint still had that wet shine that makes you think it might run.

Mr Oddie died on Saturday in the infirmary, and the gym went to a nephew who wants it turned into a furniture showroom. He sent word that the sign can come down. I haven't gone to take it off. Instead I went this morning with a fine brush and the last of the umber, and I added one more loop under the F, a thin stroke that goes nowhere at all, the way a man might keep a pencil moving while he listens. Nobody will notice it from the street. I left the brush wet on the step so the line would dry crooked, and I think that is the most honest thing I have ever put on a wall.