Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Infinity and anchor on a wrist
Fine line · Other · Black and grey · Photo
A small black tattoo of an anchor with its shank threaded through an infinity symbol sits on the inner wrist of a hand held up towards the camera. The linework is thin and even, with the shading kept minimal so the design reads as simple outlines. The background is softly out of focus, showing a person in a dark skirt and sandals with red painted toenails.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
Shift yourself, lad, and sit on the dry end of that coil. The kettle won't sing while you're stood there gawping at the water, and I've a tale to tell before the lock gates open. You've seen the anchor bolted to the cabin roof of the Marigold? My father fixed it there the winter the ice took the towpath, and he always said that chain was the only honest thing on the boat.
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The shank of it ran through a loop of old tow rope, round and round, the way a figure of eight lies on its side. He called that the sign for going on for ever. He never once let the anchor drop. Not at Bray, not at Teddington, not in the flood of '47 when the Thames came over the bank and half the moorings went downriver like washing off a line. He said a barge that lowers its anchor has decided to stop, and a barge that has decided to stop is only a house waiting to sink.
So what did he do when the lock-keeper's boy fell off the gate into the black water? He tied his own coat to the end of that rope and threw the lot in after him, then held the loop steady while the lad climbed up it hand over hand. Nobody needed the anchor that day. Ada turned the old iron over in her palm, tracing the loop with her thumb the way other folk touch a rosary, and the kettle began, at last, to sing.
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