Fine line script tattoo reading focus with a long swash line on the inner forearm, beside a gold clover bracelet.

Focus script on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A close photograph of a forearm and hand held out against a pale, blurred sky. The tattoo is the word focus in a thin, cursive script, with a long hairline flourish running from the end of the word back towards the wrist. The ink is dark grey to black, and a gold clover charm bracelet sits just above the wrist beside the lettering.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The lamp-keeper's girl was told to watch the flame and nothing else, and so she did, all the way down the shaft in the cage that swung on its chain like a bucket in a well. Her father said the mine would take the eyes of anyone who looked at the dark too long. Her mother said the same of the wind on the spoil heap, where the clover grew thick in the cinders, four leaves on one stem out of a hundred.

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The trouble came in the third week of the wet. The water rose in the low gallery and the men were called up, all but Tom Haig, who had gone back for his tin of tea and was lost somewhere past the pumps. The overman sent the girl down the ladder with the lamp because hers was the steadiest hand and she was the only one who had not stopped shaking. She went down with her eyes fixed on the small yellow circle at her feet and nothing else. Her father had told her that a mind on one thing walks straight.

She found Tom sitting on a ledge with his lamp out, staring at the black where the noise of water came from. She did not look at the black. She said his name, and then she said the word her father used to call when she had wandered off in the top field: focus. Tom looked at her lamp, and then at her, and then he stood up and took hold of her sleeve.

They came up together with the water at their heels. Afterwards the girl pressed a clover from the heap between two slates and gave it to Tom, and Tom Haig never again went back for anything he had left below.

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