Two hands held together, each wrist showing a small black semicolon tattoo, with white dice bearing the same mark in the palm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Matching semicolon wrist tattoos

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Two hands are clasped together in a top-down view, with a small black semicolon tattoo visible on each wrist. A pair of white dice, each marked with a black semicolon, rests in one palm against a patterned red and blue textile and a beige carpet. The tattoos are small, crisp and solid black, with no shading or colour.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Nadia had lost the dice twice already, once down the back of the sofa and once into the bag of frozen peas, so when Owen finally fished them out from under the radiator he held them up like something dug from a site. 'Two semicolons,' he said. 'Does that count as a win?' She didn't look up from the pot of cold tea. 'Neither of us wins. That's the rule of the marks. You pause, you don't stop.'

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They had matching marks done the spring the lift in Hallam House broke for the third time that year, a pair of small black ticks inked on the inside of each wrist in a shop above a chippy on Westgate. The woman with the needles asked if they'd rather have full stops, cleaner and more final, and Owen laughed so hard he nearly smudged the stencil. Nadia still thought about that. Neither of them was ready for a full stop.

The argument that night was about Leeds. There was a job offering a salary that could fix the damp, and his mum lived three streets away and had stopped answering the phone after breakfast. Neither of them said the easy thing. They rolled the dice instead, the way they did when talking only went round in circles, and the tumbling settled with both faces up, the same small curl of ink looking back at them.

Nadia picked the dice up, pressed them against her wrist for a moment, and laughed. 'Right. Carry on, then.' She took the biro from behind her ear and wrote on the back of the takeaway menu, in careful capitals: WE HAVE TO TALK ABOUT LEEDS; THEN WE EAT THE LAST SAMOSA.

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