Fine line black infinity symbol and small heart outline tattoos on the inner wrists of two raised arms, one wrist wearing a red string bracelet.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Infinity and heart tattoos on two wrists

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Two raised arms are shown from the wrists up, with a small black infinity symbol on the left wrist and a small outlined heart on the right wrist. The linework is thin and even, with no shading, and the ink is black against the skin. A red string bracelet sits just below the heart, and the fingers have red nail polish, while the background is dark and softly out of focus.

Fine line Forearm Infinity Heart

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The fair is packing up on the Tuesday, the last ride already folded into its lorry in Hallam's field, and you are counting the takings in the caravan with the biscuit tin balanced on your knees. Owen keeps saying they should leave before the frost sets in, and you keep counting coppers, because a tin that goes north short is a tin that never comes back south. Then your thumb finds something that isn't money: a flat brass token stamped with a figure of eight lying on its side, worn smooth on one face.

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Madame Lusk left it there the summer she went into the hospital at Carlisle. She never told a fortune she didn't believe in, your mother used to say, and the only thing she ever drew on a customer's palm was that sideways eight, always at the wrist, where she said the pulse would tell the truth if the words didn't. Nobody on the fair ever asked her what it meant. You suspect she didn't know herself, and that was why she kept drawing it.

You walk the midway alone in the dark. The generators hum, the Waltzer's bulbs are dead, and at the gate of the pony paddock a length of red wool has been knotted round a post. Some girl used to wear one just like it, bright against the grey of the caravans, and nobody ever saw her take it off. You untie it. The knot gives easily, as if it had been waiting.

Back at the lorry, you thread the wool through the hole in the token and tie it round your own wrist, twice, pulling until it bites. Owen leans out of the cab and asks if you're coming. "Coming," you say, and for once the word sounds like it might last longer than the season.