Black and grey photo of a fine line tattoo on the back of a wrist, styled as a dotted chain bracelet with a small diamond and crescent moons, placed on the hand.

Fine line chain bracelet on the wrist

Fine line · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

A fine line tattoo across the back of a wrist imitates a bracelet, with a curved line and a row of dots forming a chain. A small outlined diamond hangs from the centre, with a crescent moon on either side and a further crescent on the edge of the wrist. The ink is solid black on a greyscale photograph, with a silver ring on a finger and a checked shirt in the background.

Fine line Dotwork Hand Bracelet Chain Dot Diamond Crescent moon Line

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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

The tide has turned before you reach the last marker post, and the causeway behind you is already filling with grey light and cold water. You keep your hands in your coat pockets and count the posts the way Morag taught you, one pale dot for each step, the way she'd run her thumb along the beads of her rosary on the ferry bench. Twelve posts to the slipway. Eleven, then ten. The wind snatches the count away.

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At the eighth post the iron ring is gone. Last winter it hung there, a rusted hoop with a little diamond of chain looped through, marking the place where the Dunmore cart went under on a spring tide. Morag said the diamond was for the drowned, the crescents for the moon that drags the sea about, and the dots for the feet of everyone who ever walked to Inchgarra and lived to complain about it. Now there is only a bare bolt, and a gull standing on it, watching you as though you owe it a toll.

You reach the slipway with the water at your ankles. Someone has swung a torch on the seawall, and its beam makes a crescent on the wet sand ahead of you. You wave back with the hand that holds the rope, and only then do you understand that you have been counting the wrong way all along. The posts were never there to show you the path out. They were only a record of where the water had already been, and you had been trusting them to tell you where it was going.