Black and grey fine line lettering tattoo of a three-line quote in cursive script across the inner wrist.

Script quote on the inner wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A close photograph of the inner wrist and palm of a hand, raised towards the camera against a dark background. Three lines of cursive script in black ink run across the wrist, with fine, even linework. The image is black and white, so the ink appears as dark grey and black against the skin tones.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Quote Word Script Text

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Pull that stool nearer the stove, the lamp can manage without you for once. You want the tale of Skerrin Light, then you'll hear it properly or not at all. The keeper back then was a man called Amos Lowrie, who kept everything in a green ledger: oil by the gallon, ships by their names, the lamp's hours to the minute. His wife Nell thought the work the loneliest trade the Lord ever dreamt up, and she said so every time the supply boat came over.

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It was the February gale that did it. The mantle split and the lamp guttered, and Amos spent three hours in the lantern room with his sleeves rolled and his knuckles bleeding, coaxing a flame back into the glass while the Margery Vane broke herself on the Teeth below. By the time the beam held, there were two men in the surf. He went down the rocks on a rope tied to Nell's washing line, and he came back up with one of them over his shoulder.

The lad wouldn't wake for an hour, and when he did he said he had no reason left to go on and turned his face to the wall. Amos didn't argue. Nell had chalked a line on the slate by the door years before, copied from a hymnal she never finished, so he read it aloud instead: 'the will to live will always outweigh the ability to die.' Then he read him the tide tables, every one of them, the way you'd read a psalm. Somewhere past the spring tides the boy's jaw loosened and he asked what came next. Amos said, 'Tomorrow's tide, I expect.'

In the morning the lens caught the sun and flung it across the water in one long gold line. The lad was sitting up eating bread with both hands, and Nell, who had come out on the early boat, said nothing at all, which for her was a speech.