Fine line black script lettering arranged in the shape of a cross on the inner wrist, shown with the palm facing up.

Script cross on inner wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small tattoo on the inner wrist, with the script word set vertically and crossed by its own letterforms to form a cross. The linework is thin and even, in black ink with no shading. The hand rests on a speckled granite worktop, with the wrist filling the centre of the frame.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Cross Script Word Wrist

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The slate beside the proving cupboard still carries Walter's writing, the chalk gone grey from years of damp cloths. Every morning before the first tray went in, he wrote a single word there in his loose hand, never a time or a price, and for my first winter I took it for a prayer or a private joke. It was only when I asked him what it meant that he wiped his hands on his apron and said, "It's for the flour. You measure what you've got, not what the shop is hoping for."

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He taught me to stop when the last loaf came out of the oven, not to go looking for another batch to fill the racks. He had a habit of standing at the back door with his tea while the sky went from black to the colour of wet slate, saying nothing, and I learned to stand there with him. The year his wife died he kept baking, and the word on the slate got smaller each week until it was barely a line.

The morning he didn't come in, the rain was drumming on the skylight and the oven had been on since three. I picked up the chalk and stood over the slate for a long time. My hand wanted to write the word straight, the way he did, but the letters came out tilting, crossing back over themselves, and at the top I found I had made a small cross without meaning to. I left it there. When the last loaf came out, I turned off the oven, lifted the cloth from the bench, and let the ticking of the cooling metal be the only thing I counted.