Black line flash sheet of small fine line designs, including semicolons, a ribbon, a cross, a dragonfly, a key and lettering such as Hope, Faith and Never Give Up, shown on white paper.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Semicolon and inspirational word flash sheet

Fine line · Black and grey · Flash

A sheet of small black line drawings on white paper, arranged in a loose grid. Designs include semicolons, a awareness ribbon, crosses, hearts, a dragonfly, a butterfly, a key, an anchor, a lock and several script and block words such as Hope, Faith, Life, Survivor and Warrior. All elements use simple, even linework with no shading and no colour.

Fine line Semicolon Ribbon Cross Heart Dragonfly Butterfly Key Anchor Lock Arrow Bow Infinity Angel wing Hope Faith Life Warrior

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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

The noticeboard at the Quartz Wells petrol station had been carrying the same curling flyer about a lost greyhound since before I could drive. I pinned my first card beside it on a Tuesday, the day the bus company told Dad the route was finished. The card was cream paper with a semicolon drawn in biro, and under it, in capitals, MY STORY ISN'T OVER. I wrote my number on the tabs and drove home with the radio off.

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Nobody rang for a month. Then a woman in a fleece came in for diesel and stood reading the card while the pump clicked off. She asked if I'd drawn it. I said I'd copied it from a flash sheet a girl had left on the passenger seat of my truck, and she laughed and said it was the most honest thing anyone had told her all week. She took a tab. Before she left she pointed at the little anchor in the corner of my copy and said her grandad had sailed out of Fremantle with one exactly like it, and that he'd never once been near the sea since.

Over that summer the board filled up. Hearts with a dash beneath them, a dragonfly someone had coloured in with felt pen, a ribbon pinned slightly crooked. People wrote on the backs: a phone number, a single word, once a cup of tea drawn in pencil. Dad read every one on his way to the toilets and never said a word about them, which I took as permission.

In October a lorry driver stopped and copied my card onto the back of his receipt, folded it into his wallet, and drove west into the heat. The next morning someone had added a line under mine in careful capitals: WARRIOR, AND THEN SOME. I left it up. The sun bleached the cream to the colour of bone, and the semicolon stayed exactly where I'd put it, waiting for the rest of the sentence.