Black fine line script lettering reading The struggle is part of the story, tattooed on a section of skin in a close-up photo.

Script quote reading The struggle is part of the story

Lettering · Other · Black and grey · Photo

A close-up photograph of a tattoo in flowing cursive script that reads The struggle is part of the story across three lines. The thin, even black linework has a consistent weight, with looped capitals and connecting strokes. The lettering fills most of the frame against a plain, warm skin tone.

Lettering Fine line Other Script Quote Word Text

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The big top leaked again on Tuesday, and Mrs Fenwick set a bucket under the trapeze rigging as though the rain were a paying act. I held the torch while she counted the takings, which came to eleven pounds, four shillings and a button. Nobody at Fenwick's Travelling Pavilion had been paid in full since the spring, and the lions had started watching us the way you watch a dinner that's been left out too long.

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My grandfather painted the sign above the ticket booth in 1951, when the company still had twelve wagons and a calliope you could hear from the next county. He lettered it in a looping hand copied from an old copperplate manual: The struggle is part of the story. The rain had taken the first three words and most of the rest. Every morning I walked past it on my way to mend the costumes, and every morning it said a little less.

The council wanted the field for bungalows by October, so we planned one last show and sent the boys round with handbills. Twelve children came, a man with a dog, and the old clown wept in the wings because he could hear them laughing in all the right places. Afterwards I climbed the ladder with a pot of black enamel and wrote the words again, joined up the way my grandfather had, every loop trembling a little with the cold.

Mrs Fenwick asked why I bothered, since the new owners would only paint over it. I told her the sign had never been for the people buying tickets. It was for whoever stood under it next, arriving with nothing in their pockets and finding a bit of stubbornness already written above them. When I came down the ladder the paint was still wet, and for the first time in years the words read clearly.