Close photograph of a woman's chin and neck with a hand resting under her jaw, showing a fine black handwritten script tattoo running diagonally along the inner forearm.

Fine handwritten script on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A woman rests her chin on a raised hand, with the inner forearm angled across the frame. A thin black handwritten script runs diagonally along the forearm, with fine, even linework and no shading. The background is dark and out of focus, and the warm skin tones contrast with the ink.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Script Handwriting Word Lettering

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit yourself down, love, and mind the draught from the lift shaft, because it has a temper on it this time of year. You'll have heard about Hollins Tower, eleventh floor, where the lift stops for nobody. Forty years I've lived up there, and I can tell you the building keeps its secrets the same way my Frank kept his lists.

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Frank wrote everything down in the same thin black hand. Milk, stamps, bin bags, a hook for the bathroom. After the funeral I found a biscuit tin full of them in the airing cupboard, every one scribbled on the back of a bill, and I sat on the kitchen lino reading forty years of bread and butter. Then I found one with no shopping on it at all, only a single line folded small inside the lid: keep the light on for her. He never once said it out loud.

I tried copying it. My letters came out fat and round like a schoolgirl's, so I practised at the table every night until my wrist ached and my hand went thin like his. By spring I could sign his name on the cheque for the gas. Nobody on the stairs noticed. Mrs Okafor from nine noticed the light.

Last Tuesday the lift broke again and the boy from the chippy carried my bread up the stairs. He stopped at my door, looked past me at the lamp and said, that's your Frank's writing, isn't it? I turned round, and there it was in my own careful hand, the line I'd copied a hundred times, pinned to the shade where I'd forgotten I put it. I've never switched that lamp off since.