Small black fine line script reading "I'm fine" on the inner wrist, with a pink peony held in the palm.

"I'm fine" script on the inner wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A hand holds a large pink peony bloom against a background of green foliage. A small black script tattoo reading "I'm fine" sits on the inner wrist. The linework is thin and even, with the ink in solid black and no shading or colour.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Nell Harrow went into the wood at the end of Thimble Lane because her mother's peony had died in the frost, and the only other one in Ashcombe grew by the old woodman's gate. Nobody had picked from it in forty years. She dug out a root with a kitchen knife, wrapped it in wet sacking, and carried it home under her coat.

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At the stile, the woodman's wife stood waiting, though nobody in the village had seen her for a decade. 'How are you keeping, Nell?' she asked. 'I'm fine,' said Nell, as everyone in Ashcombe said, and the sacking suddenly grew heavy. The wood, the woman explained, keeps count of such answers. Each false fine is written on a leaf of the hedge, and the hedge cannot forgive what it cannot read. 'Plant it, and come back when you can say it true.'

Nell planted the root by the back step and watched it through a wet spring. It budded, and the buds stayed shut. Every morning she said the words over the sink, and every morning they sounded like someone else's. Her mother, who had buried a husband and two sons, never once said anything but fine, and Nell began to wonder what that word had cost her.

In June the bloom opened, pink and ruffled as a petticoat. Nell sat beside it and cried for the first time since the funeral. 'I'm not fine,' she told the flower, and the hedge at the bottom of the garden rustled like a page turning. That evening she found a leaf on the hedge, pale and new, and on it, in her own careful hand, were the words she had finally said.

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