Small black Om symbol tattoo on the inner wrist, photographed close up with the palm visible above.

Om symbol on the inner wrist

Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small black Om symbol sits on the inner wrist of a pale-skinned arm, with the palm and fingers visible at the top of the frame. The symbol has smooth, even linework with bold curves and a separate dot-like crescent above, filled in solid black. The plain background and soft indoor light keep the focus on the tattoo.

Forearm Om Symbol Wrist

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mr Abernethy tuned the organ at St Bede's for forty years, and in all that time my mother never once heard him hum a tune. What he did instead, over his cold tea in our front room in Todmorden, was hold one low sound until the cup rattled on its saucer. I asked him what it was. He said it was the sound the world made before anybody had thought to put a word on it, and that the trick was to keep it going until your chest ran out of argument.

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That summer I was fourteen and sure of everything, which meant I thought his talk was soft-headed. I took the bus to Hebden Bridge with the wages from the paper round and bought a book on old Sanskrit chants from a shop with a cracked window, mostly to show him I could. When I read him the page about the three curves and the dot above, he took the book, looked at the drawing for a long time, and gave it back. "Good ink," he said. "Bad translation."

He died in October, in the armchair with the wireless murmuring the shipping forecast. The vicar asked me to say something at the funeral, and I stood up in front of the pews with my hands shaking and found I couldn't speak. So I hummed, low, the way he had, and the sound went up into the rafters and came back off the stone, and nobody in that cold church looked away.