Black and grey dotwork bee tattoo on one wrist beside the words just be in a simple serif font on the other wrist.

Matching bee and just be wrist tattoos

Dotwork · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Two pale wrists are shown together, one bearing the lowercase words just be in a simple serif typeface and the other a bee with stippled dot shading on its body and wings. The bee is drawn in fine black linework with detail in the wings and head, and the lettering is solid black. The image is in black and grey with a plain background and soft, even lighting.

Dotwork Lettering Forearm Bee Insect Wrist Word

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

You find the bee at ten past three, on the sill of Bay Four, where the window has been propped open for the old man in bed nine who insists on air. It is dead or nearly so, legs folded under a body striped like a humbug, its wings lit by the corridor lamp so that every dot on them shows. Sister Adeyemi says leave it, somebody will sweep it up at six. You cannot leave it. You tip it onto a square of kitchen roll and carry it to the nurses' station as carefully as you would carry a patient.

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On the whiteboard, Dr Okafor's note says the bloods for side room two are still pending, and beside it someone has written in green marker just be, then crossed out the word be and written it again, smaller. You don't know who wrote it, and the night is long enough to make you wonder. You fill the kettle, check the drip charts, and every hour go back to the sill, where the open window lets in the smell of wet cut grass from the car park.

At half five the old man in bed nine wakes and asks what time it is. When you tell him, he says his wife used to keep bees at the allotment, and that they never stung anyone who stood still. You say you'll remember that. He says most people don't stand still long enough to find out. Then he sleeps again, one hand open on the blanket.

At six the porter comes with his broom. You ask him to wait. You unfold the kitchen roll and find the bee has moved, one leg lifted, one wing turned towards the light. Outside, the sky over the car park is going the colour of weak tea. You open the window wider, set the paper on the sill, and stand very still, and after a while it goes.