Black and white photo of a small Roman numeral lettering tattoo on the inner forearm near the wrist, with silver bangles worn on the same arm.

Roman numeral tattoo on the inner wrist

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A black and white close-up of a person's lower face and raised hand, showing a small line of Roman numerals in a clean black font on the inner forearm near the wrist. The lettering is crisp and evenly spaced, with fine, solid strokes. Silver bangles with small charms sit on the wrist, and a plain white top fills the lower frame.

Lettering Forearm Roman numeral Numeral Wrist Bangle Charm

Find an artist for this

Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The oven door bangs open before you've finished your tea, and the first tray of bloomers comes out blistered and gold. Flour hangs in the lamplight like dust from an old sack. Outside the window of Pemberton Lane Bakery the street is still black, and only the milk float rattles past, slow as a hymn.

Keep reading

Dad never trusted the stamp. Every January he cut the year into the proving board with a penknife, a neat row of Roman numerals, because he said a loaf should know what year it was born in. You thought that was daft until the winter he stopped coming in at four, and then the board was yours and so was the knife. You have added a new numeral each New Year since, and the scratches now run nearly the length of the bench.

Tonight Mrs Okafor's grandson comes in about the wedding cake, and you still haven't worked out how to tell him the sugar supplier has folded. You knead the dough harder than it needs, pressing your thumbs in until the surface goes smooth as a new coin. The radio says frost by seven, and the boiler ticks in the back room like it's counting.

At ten to six you take the last loaf out and knock its base with your knuckle. It sounds hollow and right. You pick up the penknife, look at the board for a long moment, and leave the year alone. Next January is a long way off. For now the bread is done, and the light is coming up grey over the bins.