Fine line black tattoos on both forearms, one reading peace will win and the other fear will lose, each with an arrow and tally marks.

Matching quote and arrow forearm tattoos

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Two matching black fine line tattoos sit on the inner forearms of a person wearing a dark shirt printed with colourful surfboards, sharks and beach balls. Each forearm has a small text quote in a clean sans serif, peace will win on the left and fear will lose on the right, above a thin line that runs around the wrist with an arrow and four tally marks. The photo is taken straight on with even lighting, and the ink is solid black with no shading.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Day forty-one, and the wind has finally dropped enough that I can hear the bell buoy from the lookout hut. I chalk the fifth mark on the slate by the door, four upright and one across, the way Dad showed us when we were too small to be trusted with the whistle. Callum says the marks are for bad days, but they aren't. They count the good ones, the days the red flag stays furled and nobody needs pulling out past the rocks.

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The arrow on the slate points out beyond the breakwater, to the stretch of water where the rip pulls hardest. Mum painted the two sayings on the inside wall the summer she left, PEACE WILL WIN on one side and FEAR WILL LOSE on the other, and Dad never once explained which of them he meant as a warning. Callum thinks it's a slogan for the tourists. I think it's an argument nobody finished.

On day thirty-eight a boy from the caravan park went out on a borrowed board and didn't come back in when the wind swung. Callum went in without a word, and I held the rope while he hauled the boy's shoulders back over the rocks, both of them grey and shouting. Nobody died. Nobody needed the whistle. But when we got back to the hut, Callum stood in front of the slate for a long time, then rubbed out the whole row with his sleeve.

This morning I found the chalk on the step and a new arrow beside the old one, pointing at the hut door. Under it he had written in small square capitals: START AGAIN, WE DID THE HARD PART. I left the marks alone and put the kettle on, and out past the breakwater the sea went on being exactly as dangerous as it had been yesterday.

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