Two people holding hands, each with a small black curved stroke tattoo on the inner forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Matching curved forearm marks on a couple

Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Two people hold hands, showing matching small black tattoos on the inside of their forearms. Each tattoo is a single bold, slightly wavy stroke with simple, solid black ink and no shading. The soft, even lighting and plain brick background keep the focus on the tattoos and the joined hands.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Nobody in Porthgarrow could agree who first cut the tally stick, only that it hung on a nail behind the bait shed longer than any of us had been alive. Every landing was notched into it, one nick per crate of pilchards, and the old harbourmaster swore the wood remembered the weight of every boat.

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The winter the sea came over the breakwater, the shed went with it. I went down at first light and found the stick in two, split clean along the grain where the surge had levered it off its nail. Tomas was already kneeling in the wrack with the other end, as if he had been waiting for someone to bring it back to him. Neither of us spoke for a long time. We matched the halves against each other, and the notches lined up like teeth that had always known where they belonged.

The council wanted what was left burned for firewood. Instead Tomas took his half to the smithy, and I took mine to the woman who sold ink from a trestle by the chapel steps. We each had a single line put on the inside of our arm, where a mooring rope would not chafe it. Thin at the ends and heavier in the middle, the way the wood had been worn smooth by thumbs.

Forty years on, the harbour has a new breakwater and a marina full of boats that have never seen a pilchard. When strangers ask what the marks mean, we hold our arms out side by side and let them see the two lines meet where our hands are joined, like a split stick that has grown back true along the break.

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