Close view of a fine line black script tattoo reading que sera, sera along the inner forearm of a person with long blonde hair.

Que sera, sera script on forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A person with long blonde hair raises one hand to their chin, showing the inside of the forearm. The tattoo is a thin, single-needle style script reading que sera, sera, running diagonally along the forearm towards the wrist. The ink is black on a warm-toned, softly lit background with a dark top and shelving behind.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Script Quote Word

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The ferry was late again, so Mairi Haldane sat on the bollard with her boots off and watched the mainland disappear into rain. Her brother Calum had crossed on Tuesday to sell the ewes and had not come back, and the whole island had an opinion about it. The minister said the sea was a patient thing. Her aunt said Calum had always been a fool with money. Mairi said nothing, because she had learned on this shore that talk only drew the tide closer.

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An old woman came down the slipway with a pail of mussels and stopped beside her. Nobody knew her name. She had arrived on the spring boat years before and stayed, and she spoke a mix of Gaelic and something older that the children tried to copy. 'You're waiting for a boat,' she said. 'I'm waiting for my brother,' said Mairi. The woman set down her pail and hummed the same three words over and over, que sera, sera, the way fishermen hum a shanty to keep their hands moving. Then she climbed the path before Mairi could ask what they meant.

Mairi took a stub of chalk from her coat and wrote the words on the flat stone at her feet, letter by careful letter. The rain came sideways and blurred them. She stayed where she was. At dusk the ferry nosed into the harbour, and Calum stepped off with an empty sack over his shoulder and a grin that was not sorry at all. The gulls on the pier were calling the same three words, badly, the way gulls do.

By morning the chalk was gone, scoured off by the tide. The children still hum the words on the slipway, and when a visitor asks who taught them, they point at the water and shrug, as if the sea had sung it to them first.