Black script lettering tattoo running along the inner forearm of a person with a bracelet on the wrist.

Script lettering on a forearm

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A close photograph of a single line of black cursive script tattooed along the inner forearm. The lettering has smooth, even strokes with some variation in weight, and the skin looks clean and unmarked around it. The arm is held across a dark sheer top against a soft, pale background, with the tattoo as the clear focal point.

Lettering Forearm Script Lettering Word Text

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The rain had come down on Saltmarrow market since before the bells, and the stallholders had given up arguing with their awnings. Old Tobiah Wren sat under a tarpaulin with a tin of lamp oil and a set of brass scales that had not weighed anything in ten years. He sold advice instead, a farthing a question, and most people paid him to tell them what they already knew.

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On the third Thursday of the wet season, a girl called Ada Pell came splashing between the stalls with a letter in her apron pocket. The ink had run until the words were grey ghosts. She set it on his crate and asked what a person should do with a thing that was ruined. Tobiah licked his thumb, rubbed a corner clean, and read the faint strokes beneath. He said the rain takes whatever you cannot carry, and what you mean to keep you must write twice, once on paper and once where the weather cannot reach.

Ada went home and sat by the range with a pen and a bottle of black ink. She wrote the words her grandmother used to sing over the washing, the Latin that meant and yet, and she pressed hard, slow and even, the way her grandmother had taught her to make a stitch that would hold. She did not write it on paper at all. She wrote it on the inside cover of the ledger where she kept her accounts, and she closed the book and put it under the mattress.

The next morning the market flooded, and the letter dissolved to pulp in the gutter. Tobiah came by with his scales under his coat and found Ada standing dry beneath the eaves. She opened the ledger for him. The line held, black and steady, as if the rain had never been invited in.