Fine line black tattoo of a chain with a small anchor motif wrapped around the upper thigh of a woman in black underwear and a striped crop top.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Fine line chain and anchor thigh band

Fine line · Thigh · Black and grey · Photo

A full-length studio shot of a woman standing barefoot against a pale grey backdrop, cropped at the torso and with her face not shown. A thin black fine line tattoo of a chain with a small anchor-like motif wraps around the outer upper thigh of one leg, and small tattoos are also visible on her arms. The image is black and grey, with soft, even lighting and the tattoo kept as a clear focal point on the leg.

Fine line Thigh Chain Anchor

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dad kept the cable in the cupboard under the stairs of Carrick House, twelve links of it coiled like a sleeping dog, because he said a man who lost his anchor chain would lose his nerve before he lost his boat. I was nine when I first dragged it out to play with. The links were black with old grease and so heavy my wrists ached, and the anchor-shaped shackle at the end had a rust print that never came off, however hard Nan scrubbed.

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Nan lived on the eleventh floor, in the flat that looked out over the Medway, and every Sunday she made us climb because the lift had been broken since the winter the council forgot us. She counted the landings out loud. Twelve, thirteen, fourteen, as if the numbers were a rope she was hauling up hand over hand. Dad carried the chain on his shoulder and never once complained.

The week the tug went down off Sheerness, the chain came out of the cupboard for the last time. Dad didn't speak. He sat at the kitchen table with the links spread across the oilcloth, working them with a rag, and I understood he was trying to make something whole out of what the sea had left him.

In the end he cut me a short length, three links and the little anchor. I wear it on my wrist now, a thread of a thing next to the cable it came from. Some mornings it catches on my coat sleeve, and I think of Nan at the top of the stairs, out of breath and laughing, saying we'd made it without stopping once.