Fine line black tattoo of a heartbeat trace ending in an outlined heart, on the inside of a wrist.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Heartbeat line with heart on a wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A thin black outline of an ECG heartbeat trace runs across the inside of the wrist, with a sharp spike near the centre and a small outlined heart at the right-hand end. The linework is fine and even, with no shading, and the ink is solid black against pale skin. The tattoo sits centrally in the frame against a soft blue-green fabric background.

Fine line Forearm Heartbeat Heart Ecg line Wrist

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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

Right, sit closer, you'll not hear me over the generator. That's the Dodgems idling, and Mr Pryce won't let it cut out till the last car is back on its rail. Now, you asked about the paper roll in the cabin with the brass pen. Your grandad called it the Lie Detector, but it wasn't. Dr Ada Lusk brought it up from Bristol in 1911, bolted to the back of a lorry, and she drew with it every evening on the green behind the Big Wheel.

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She'd clip a wire to a stallholder's wrist or a pensioner's, and the pen would scratch a line across the paper, up and down, up and down. Folk paid a penny to see their own line. Most of them wanted to know if they'd see the winter. She never told them. She'd fold the strip, hand it over, and say, there, that's what you are while you're busy being alive.

The summer the flood came up the Avon, a boy called Tobias Greave came to her tent with a torn cap and no penny. His mother was sitting in a cart on the far bank, too frightened to move, and he wanted a line to show her he was still living. Ada let him hold the wire himself. The needle stuttered, then leapt high, then dropped into a little dip, and she inked a heart at the end of it, quick, the way you'd sign a letter.

He carried the strip across the water folded small inside his cap. When the river went down, the paper was soft as cloth and the pen had long since dried, but the shape was still there, a cross where the first climb began, a spike, and that small heart waiting at the end.