Black-outlined infinity symbol shaded from teal to purple, with a teal dot and purple semicolon, tattooed on the inside of a wrist.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Infinity symbol and semicolon on a wrist

Other · Mixed · Photo

A black-outlined infinity symbol sits across the inside of a wrist, with its loop filled by a band that shades from teal to purple. To the right, a small teal dot and a purple semicolon sit inside the lower loop. The linework is clean and the colour is saturated against the pale skin, with the photo taken straight on and centred on the tattoo.

Other Infinity Semicolon Dot

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mum wrote the log in pencil, always, because ink runs when the cabin steams up, and I have inherited the pencil along with the tiller and the habit of lying about the weather. Tonight's entry should say the Juniper Rose lay two hours at Cold Harbour lock waiting on a row between a heron and a man in a flat cap. It says nothing of the sort. I'm writing this one myself, on the back page, while Dad sleeps off the lock keeper's tea.

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The Haddon Cut bends so often the map looks like a fingerprint. Go far enough and you come back past your own mooring, the same washing on the same line, a woman we've never met waving from the towpath as if we'd only popped out for milk. Dad calls it the loop. Mum called it the bit where the canal forgets it's supposed to go somewhere. Three times this month we've been round. Each pass the willows look more tired and the water goes a shade bluer, like the flame at the bottom of a kettle, until it tips into evening purple and nobody can say where one stops and the other starts.

On the fourth pass I stood on the roof with the boathook and decided. I would not wave at the washing. I would look for the place where the water splits: a weir on the left, and on the right a long pale tongue of current running off towards the river proper. Dad saw me looking and said nothing, which for Dad is a speech. He cut the engine and let us drift to the junction, and the light turned the whole cut the colour of a bruise going down, pretty and nothing to fear.

We went right, past the last narrowboats and down the long straight to the reach where the river gets too wide to hold its banks. In the log I wrote the time, the mileage, the word ferry. Then I sat with the pencil over the page for a long while. A full stop would have ended the day, so I drew a small dot, then a tail beneath it, and left the line open for whatever came after.