Fine line black script reading no fear on the inner wrist of a palm-up hand.

No fear script on the wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small tattoo of the words no fear in a thin, continuous script runs across the inner wrist. The linework is single-weight and dark, with the lettering sitting horizontally below the palm. The photo is taken indoors with a plain, slightly cluttered background of shoes and carpet, and the ink appears dark blue or black.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Phrase Script

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The wind backs north before you have finished your tea, and Dad is already at the slipway with the diesel can, not looking at the sky. You want to ask if the Marigold is going out. You know the answer. Nobody in Skerrow has ever asked a skipper that twice.

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Out past the Carrick Ledge the swell lifts the boat like a hand under a tray. Sam, the mate's boy, is grey around the mouth and clutching the rail, so you tell him what your gran told you: keep your eyes on the far light and not on the water. He asks whether you are frightened. You tell him the truth, which is that you are, and that it's only a warp, a long line running out over the gunwale that you keep hauling in hand over hand. Let it slacken and it tangles your boots. Keep it taut and it brings the pots home.

Dad hauls the first pot in silence. Three crabs, one lobster with a notched claw, a rag of weed. Sam laughs for the first time since Ness, and the laugh is so thin and bright it seems to hang in the spray, like a word written with a single pen stroke that never lifts.

Back on the quay at dusk, the rope is coiled wet on the stones. You crouch beside it and run your thumb along the wet fibres from one end to the other without finding a break, and you think that's the whole trick: nothing clever, just a line that doesn't let go.