Black and white photo of a thin fine line tattoo of a jagged zigzag shape on the inner wrist.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Fine line zigzag on the inner wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A close photograph of a slender arm with a small, thin black tattoo of a jagged, zigzag line running across the inner wrist. The linework is crisp and even with no shading, and the monochrome photo sets it against pale skin and a dark, textured background.

Fine line Forearm Zigzag 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

Sit down, the lot of you, and stop pretending you can't hear me over the fiddle. Nell Harker stood where you're standing now, in 1911, with her skirts wet to the knee from the beck, and she told the whole wedding party that the lightning had come down the Fell Road in a line like a broken fence. It had split the hawthorn by the chapel gate clean through, top to root, and the bride's father swore the scar on the bark ran zig and zag like a man walking home from the inn.

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Her husband, Tom Aird, had been sheltering under that tree with a ewe that had a broken foreleg. He was not hurt. The ewe was not hurt either, which Nell always said was the real miracle, because that ewe never once forgave anybody for anything.

The hawthorn is firewood now, but the bench they made from its trunk stands in the lych gate where you hang your coats. Every time an Aird weds, someone traces the old crack with a finger for luck, and the marriage holds the way the high pass holds, bent by every storm but never gone. That is all the lightning ever left us: a line that does not break. Now somebody fetch the bride a drink before she starts crying on the cake.