Script initials T and R with small hearts
Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo
The photograph shows two small tattoos on pale inner forearms, one a looping script T and the other a looping script R, each paired with a tiny heart. The thin, even linework is in dark ink with no shading, and the sepia tone makes the ink look brown. The R sits towards the upper right of the frame and the T towards the lower left, against soft shadow.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
You hold still on the lamp-room step at Greave Pit while Tom Hobday pricks the letter into the soft inside of your wrist. He has sooted a pin over the candle and mixed the black with spit, and it stings less than you let on. He draws the T first, looping its crossbar like a fishhook, and tells you not to flinch because the cage will drop in twenty minutes and he cannot be late for it.
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Rhoda Penhale is waiting at the pithead with her own wrist bare, tapping her boot against the rail. She said no to a heart on the walk down the lane, then yes, then no again. When her turn comes she holds out the arm and Tom works the R in tight beside a small heart, the way you once wrote notes in the margins of the wage book when the clerk was not looking. Her hand shakes only at the end, and she laughs and says the lamp is smoking.
Down the shaft, the old men call the disused workings the Mouth, and the chalk marks on the timber are the only names anyone trusts. You think about that afterwards, when the cage stalls at the third level and the bell goes quiet. Rhoda's fingers find your wrist in the dark, and she counts the loops of your initial by touch, one, two, three, the way you would count stitches in a long grey sock.
The cage comes up at six with the light going grey over the spoil heaps. Tom is at the top with the ink still wet on his own cuffs, and he asks whether you would do it again. You say yes before he finishes the question, and the soot does not wash out for a week, which is how you know it was meant to stay.
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