Fine line black tattoo of an infinity symbol with the word family and a feather on the inner wrist.

Infinity symbol with family script on wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small tattoo on the inner wrist shows an infinity symbol with the word family written in cursive script inside the loop. A feather is drawn across the upper stroke of the infinity sign. The linework is thin and dark, with soft grey shading on the feather, and the photograph is taken at a slight angle against a wooden surface.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Infinity Family Feather Script Wrist

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The bell over the door of the Harrowgate post office had been broken since Whitsun, so you hear the van before you see it, its gears grinding up Mill Lane. You have the stamps counted by then. Twelve penny reds, the ledger squared, a jar of nibs gone dry. Mr Orme still comes in every Thursday to ask whether anything has come from Canada, and every Thursday you tell him the truth, which is that nothing has.

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The letter arrives in the second week of October in a hand you know from school exercise books, the capitals leaning into one another as if they're keeping each other upright. Inside is a pheasant feather pressed flat between two sheets of greaseproof paper, and a single line: Keep this until I'm home. Your brother has never sent you anything that wasn't a joke, so you read it twice at the counter with the queue shuffling behind you, and Mrs Pritchard clicks her tongue about the wait.

You pin the feather to the corkboard behind the till, beside the notice for the harvest supper and a lost spaniel called Biscuit. For weeks you sort the outgoing post with one hand while the other keeps smoothing the feather flat. Mrs Pritchard asks what it is. You say it belongs to your brother and he'll want it back, and she says men always do.

On the first Thursday of December the van comes early and Mr Orme doesn't come at all. You take the feather down, fold it into a clean envelope, and write his name on the front in your own careful hand, the loops of the letters running out to the edge and back again. You add the stamp, press it hard with your thumb, and carry the bundle out to the van. The driver takes it without looking up. You stand in the doorway until the gears have faded down the lane, and you do not once look at the bell.