Black and grey fine line infinity symbol tattoo with two footprints and script initials on the inner wrist.

Infinity symbol with footprints on wrist

Fine line · Other · Black and grey · Photo

A thin black outline infinity symbol runs across the inner wrist, with two solid grey-shaded footprints and small toe dots on the left loop. Script initials sit inside the right loop, drawn in fine black linework. The shading is soft grey on the footprints and faint grey along the infinity curve, with the skin tone showing around the design against a dark background.

Fine line Other Infinity Footprint Initial Script

Find an artist for this

Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Shift that sack of onions off the stool and sit yourself down, boy, before the stew catches and the both of us go up with it. Right. You want the tale of the Carrow Dell's cook and the two small prints on the galley deck? Then hush and stir.

Keep reading

Every morning for a fortnight, before the watch was called, Mrs Ida Penhallow, who ran the galley on the Carrow Dell, found footprints in the flour she'd spread on the scrubbed boards to soak up the damp. Small bare feet, toes and all, and they went from the hatch to the stove and back again, never once to the bread bin. Nobody aboard had feet that size. The cook's mate swore it was the ship's dog. The bosun swore it was rats. Ida said nothing, but she went ashore at Tilbury, bought a tin of good tallow and a length of blue ribbon, and laid a row of pins along the threshold, points up, like a fence for a child not yet walking. Next morning the prints came back, but they went round the pins in a loop, past the stove, out through the hatch and round again, the same two feet on the same worn path, as if whoever it was had found the one road that never ended and was content to keep to it.

Ida took it first as a warning and then, being practical, as a mercy. She stopped scrubbing the far corner. She left the lamp burning. Some nights she heard a soft patter going round and round under the table while she kneaded, and she hummed to it, the old one about the drowned sailor's wife, until it stopped.

The Dell went down off the Horn that spring with every hand aboard. Years later a fishing smack brought Ida's galley up in her nets, the stove cold, the flour still on the boards, and in it a loop of small footprints running round the table leg, so neat you'd swear they'd been laid with a ruler. Now eat your stew. And mind you climb that ladder properly when you go up, and don't walk the loop.