Black and grey fine line script tattoo reading hope with a small outlined star on the inner wrist, partly surrounded by stacked black and silver bangles.

Hope script with a star on the wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo spells the word hope in a flowing, joined script, with a small outlined star after the final letter. The linework is thin and even, and the ink is solid black with no shading or colour. The wrist is photographed straight on, with several black and silver bangles stacked just below the tattoo, and the background is dark.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Hope Star Word

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The ink was iron gall, and in the cold it thickened in the pot faster than I could work, so I kept my pen moving in short joined strokes to stop the line breaking. Brother Anselm had taught me that a hand should run like a stream over stones, never pausing to admire itself. The abbey was short of parchment that winter, short of oil and short of firewood, and the Prior had set me to copy the Psalter for the chapel at Wrenhithe, where the roof had come down in the flood.

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On the eleventh night of Advent the infirmary bell rang twice, which meant Brother Anselm was going. I sat with him until his breath slowed, then walked back to the scriptorium with my candle guttering. He had left a folio half finished, the last line of the Psalm of the Sea waiting for its final word. I dipped the pen and wrote the word slowly, the letters joined the way he liked, the h rising like a bell rope and the p dropping down into the cold.

Beyond the window the fen was black, but one star hung low over the mere, the same one he used to point out from the cloister wall when the novices grumbled about matins. I am not certain it was a sensible thing to do, but I drew a small outlined star after the word, a flourish he would have laughed at and then forgiven me for.

In the morning the Prior read the page aloud in chapter and stopped at the end. Nobody asked what the word meant. They could see it was the last thing Anselm had asked me to finish, and the ink was still wet enough to shine.