Pencil drawing of an infinity symbol with an ornate cross overlapping its lower left loop, shown as a tattoo design on plain paper.

Infinity symbol with ornate cross

Black and grey · Flash

A pencil drawing of an infinity symbol with a decorated Latin-style cross crossing over the lower left loop. The infinity loops are shaded with soft, smudged grey strokes, while the cross has fine outlines and small dot details along its arms. The plain pale background fills the frame, with the design centred and no body part visible.

Infinity Cross

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit yourself on the flour sacks, lad, and mind the cat. The oven isn't hot enough for the tins yet, so you'll have to listen instead, which is the one thing you're good at when you're not scorching my crusts.

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This was the bakery on Crown Street, back when Ezra Pollard kneaded in the back room with his sleeves rolled to the elbow. He had a little silver cross his mother pressed into his palm the day he left the orphanage, and when the debt on the ovens came due, he carried it to the pawnbroker's in a paper twist. The man weighed it, sniffed, and said it was worth less than the bag of flour it would buy. Ezra took the money anyway. That night he scratched a great loop of charcoal on the whitewash above the bench, round and round, and told the empty shop that bread went on forever if you let it. A thing like that, he said, could not be sold outright.

The winter the flour ran dry, the pawnbroker's boy came shivering to the back door. He had been sent to fetch a baker for a reason nobody told him, and he was holding the cross out on his flat hand as if it burned. He asked for bread on credit. Ezra gave him a cob still warm from the tin, took the cross back without a penny, and hung it on a loop of string from the nail beside the charcoal line. 'Some debts you don't clear, lad,' he said. 'You carry them round.'

See the light there? That's the first batch coming out, and look at the wall. The charcoal's faded to a ghost, and the cross still throws its shadow across the loop, the way it always did, like a hand on a clock that never quite stops.