Black and grey fine line script lettering running into a feather tattoo across a forearm.

Script quote and feather on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A black and grey tattoo on a forearm shows a thin, single line of cursive script that runs into a shaded feather at the right. The feather has fine, detailed barbs and soft shading, while the lettering and the trailing line use a delicate, even stroke. The photograph is black and white, with the subject cropped below the neck and above the wrist, against a dark top.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Feather Script Lettering Quote Line

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The letter turned up behind the sorting-office wardrobe the week after the flood, folded into a square no bigger than a playing card. I knew the hand before I had it open. Mr Garside wrote the way he walked, long and unhurried, every line running past the margin as though the paper was an inconvenience.

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He had been gone since March, taken on at the works in Ipswich for a wage that would not stretch to a second room, and he had left behind a grey goose quill he trimmed with his penknife every Sunday night. The letter was addressed to Edith Pym at the chandler's across the road. It said the tide tables were in the drawer under the counter, that the window latch stuck, and that he would come back when the line was finished. Beneath that, in a smaller hand, ran a line of Latin I could not parse, the last words trailing off towards the edge of the page like a stroke that had not been lifted.

I walked it across on Saturday, through the wet, with the rain coming sideways off the estuary. The chandler's was shuttered. A card in the window said the business had been sold and the stock was to be cleared. Mrs Hobday from next door said Edith had gone to her sister's in Harwich at Michaelmas and had asked nobody to forward anything.

So I kept the letter, and on Sunday night I trimmed the quill with my own penknife and wrote underneath his words, in my roughest copperplate, that the latch had been mended and the tables were still in the drawer. I did not sign it. I posted it to Ipswich, care of the works, and waited for a reply that never came, which was, I suppose, its own kind of answer.