Black lettering reading I run for those who can't sits above two black footprints and a dotted red trail, all tattooed on skin.

Running quote with footprints on skin

Lettering · Mixed · Photo

The tattoo shows the words I RUN FOR THOSE WHO CAN'T in bold black capitals, with two footprints and a dotted trail of dark red marks running beneath them. The lettering is solid and crisp, while the footprints have a textured, stippled shading. The photograph is taken close up at a slight angle, with the text filling most of the frame and a blurred reddish area at the top edge.

Lettering Text Quote Footprint Trail

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Snow had been lying on Hollin Farm since Martinmas, and by the second week of January the lane to the village was a grey trough nobody trusted. Mrs Eades sent her grandson Owen out at first light with the empty milk churn on a sledge, because the cart would not get past the gate. He came back before the bells, red to the ears, and said the lane was passable if you kept close to the stone wall.

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Behind the byre stood Blossom, the old grey pony who had hauled that cart for twenty years and now could not manage the slope. Each morning Owen went to her stall before anything else, pressed his forehead to hers, and told her what the lane had done that day. She could not run any more. She could not even trot. He told her anyway, the way his grandfather had told the hens about the weather.

On the morning the thaw crust cracked and the vet's van slid into the ditch at the bottom of the hill, Owen was the one who ran. He ran the whole mile with the wind in his face, skidding where the ice had frozen hard in the hoof marks of the hunt, past the church and into the surgery yard. The vet came back up the lane with him, and Blossom came through the winter.

By March the lane had dried to mud, and Owen still ran it every morning, though the churn had long gone back to the dairy. Blossom stood at the gate to watch him return, and his boot prints ran beside the wall all the way up the hill, one small mark after another, like something he had decided to keep.