Fine black line drawing of an infinity symbol with a softball stitched on the left loop and the word Softball in script on the right loop, shown as a design with no body placement.

Infinity symbol with softball and script word

Fine line · Black and grey · Flash

A single continuous black line forms an infinity symbol, with a softball drawn in the left loop, its seam stitching shown in small hatched marks. The word Softball is written in looping cursive across the right loop, sitting partly within the line. The drawing is in thin, even linework on a plain purple and peach background, with no shading or colour ink.

Fine line Lettering Infinity Script Stitches Ball

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The ball turned up in lost property on a Tuesday, wedged between the seats of the 16:40 to Harrowden, and nobody came for it. I logged it the way I log everything, with a date, a platform and a description: one softball, white, stitching worn grey on one side. Then I put it on the shelf above the kettle, where the umbrellas go to be forgotten.

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Every weekday after that a girl with a green kit bag came through the ticket barrier at quarter past five, looked at the shelf, looked at me, and said nothing. Her bat was always over one shoulder, too long for her, and her mum waited by the coin-only vending machine at the far end of the concourse. I never asked her name. She never asked for the ball.

In March the rain came sideways across platform four and the 17:02 was cancelled, so the whole station filled with people sitting on their bags. The girl sat beside me on the bench by the lost property hatch. The ball had been her gran's, she said, signed in a village hall before she was born, and she'd dropped it off the train coming back from a match they lost by a single run. I said I'd keep it safe. She said her gran used to say that a seam goes round and comes back to where you started, and then she looked at the rain and didn't ask again.

I gave it to her on the Friday. She turned it over, found the seam, and ran her thumb along the hatched stitches the way you'd follow a line on a map. Then she tossed it up, caught it, and walked back through the barrier. I watched the green bag swing out of sight, and the shelf above the kettle was empty for the first time since I'd started.