Fine line script word free tattooed on the inner forearm, with a hand resting on a bare thigh and bare feet on white bedding.

Script word free on the inner forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A close photograph of a person lying on white bedding, with one hand resting on their thigh and bare feet visible in the background. A small, thin, single-line script word reading free sits on the inner forearm near the wrist. The ink is dark blue-black with soft shading, and the warm, low-light tones of the photo dominate the composition.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Script Word Free Wrist

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit down, the lot of you, these chairs are older than your marriages. Nobody is going to make a speech about the school roof. I want to tell you about the spring of 1987, when Margaret Hale wrote one word in the margin of her exercise book and kept writing it until I noticed.

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She was fifteen and sat by the radiator in 4B, the one that knocked like a drunk at the door. Every lesson she copied the same word in biro, thin and careful, joined up the way the nuns at St Brannoc's had taught her sister before the nuns moved on. Free. Nobody asked her why. In a school like ours you didn't ask a girl what she was thinking about. You gave her a detention and waited for her to come back.

Her father drove a bread van that broke down that summer, so the family moved into two rooms above the chapel and she missed the bus twice a week. She told me once, chin up, that she was saving her fare to Plymouth in a jam jar. The jar lived under her bed. I know because I was the one who had to take it off her the day it turned up in her bag, and I counted the coins on my desk while she watched me do it.

I didn't confiscate it. I gave it back with a note to her mother and I said nothing about Plymouth. Last month a postcard came to the school office, addressed to me, with a harbour in Norway on the front and one word on the back in that same thin hand. I'm not going to read it to you. Some words are only ever meant for the one who needed them.