Colour tattoo on an upper arm of the words we should live until we die, set in a wreath of yellow flowers and teal leaves, in a Lettering and Botanical style.

Quote wreath with flowers on upper arm

Lettering · Upper arm · Colour · Photo

A black script reads "we should live until we die" inside an oval wreath of yellow sunflower-like and marigold-style blooms with teal leaves and curling stems. The linework is bold and outlined, with flat, solid fills in yellow, orange and teal. The tattoo sits centrally on the upper arm against a plain skin background, with a red top and blonde hair visible at the edges of the frame.

Lettering Botanical Upper arm Script Quote Flower Sunflower Wreath Leaves

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Hedda kept a tin of seeds on the shelf above the stove, yellow ones and orange ones, wrapped in brown paper and labelled in a hand nobody aboard the Ardent Mary could read. Young Ivo asked about them every voyage. Every voyage she said they were for later, and every voyage the ship sailed on without any later arriving, because the captain, Mr Roake, had ruled that a galley was for boiling and not for gardening, and he had the ruling written down.

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The winter they lay becalmed off the Azores, the biscuit ran low and the water tasted of tar. Roake sat in his cabin with the door shut, and the men began to talk the way men talk when they expect to be hanged. Hedda went on baking. She took the last of the flour, the last dried apples, and a cup of sugar she had been saving for a birthday that never came, and she made a sweet loaf the size of a cartwheel. Ivo carried it up on a board to the foredeck, and the men tore it apart with their hands, and nobody said anything for a long while.

When the wind came back in March, Roake stepped out of his cabin and asked who had baked. Hedda said she had. He asked what she had used, and she told him. He stood on the wet planks with his hands behind his back for so long that the watch began to look at their boots. Then he said the seeds could go in the tub by the wheelhouse, since no one had ever been given leave to plant anything on his deck, and he supposed it was about time someone did.

By the time the Ardent Mary raised Falmouth, the tub was a thicket of sunflowers taller than a man, with marigolds spilling over the rim and teal-green leaves curling up the rigging. Ivo was learning his letters by then. He stood beneath the stove plate, where the old words were scratched, and sounded them out slowly over the blooms: we should live until we die. Hedda told him he had the order wrong, and he went red, and she did not correct him.