Black dotwork tattoo on the inner forearm of a person holding a phone, made of a circular geometric motif above a paisley shape, together forming a semicolon.

Semicolon tattoo of circle and paisley on a forearm

Dotwork · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small black tattoo on the inner forearm combines a round geometric medallion with dotted detail above a paisley-shaped teardrop filled with zigzag and dot patterns, so the two parts read together as a semicolon. The linework is fine and even, with stippled dots used for shading and texture. The photo is a mirror selfie in which the person's hand holds a phone, and only the arm and part of the hand are visible against a pale background.

Dotwork Geometric Forearm Semicolon Paisley Mandala Circle Dot Zigzag

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The landlady at Mercy Gull's kept a tin of sewing pins on the hall table, and every guest who came down to breakfast picked one up without meaning to. On your ninth morning she caught you turning one over while the gulls quarrelled on the guttering outside.

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"For the hems," she said. "Nobody here ever finishes a hem."

You had come to Bracken Cove to finish a letter to your sister. It had run to four drafts, and each one stopped at the same place, a little after the word forgive, where you could not decide whether to end the sentence or let it hang. The bedroom window rattled in its frame. Downstairs, Mrs Gull's husband was scraping sea-green paint off the porch rail, humming something with no tune in it.

On the cliff path that afternoon you found a dented tin lid in the grass, stamped with a round pattern of spokes and dots, and beside it a scrap of tarred rope curled like the tail of a teardrop. You pocketed both without thinking, the way you once pocketed sweets from your grandmother's dresser. Back in the room you laid them side by side on the blotter and saw what they made: a moon hanging over an ink drop, a mark that tells the reader to keep going.

You wrote the last line without stopping. I am not finished with you yet, only pausing, and I want you to hear the rest. You folded the page, sealed it into an envelope, and left the tin lid on the windowsill for the gulls to inspect. At breakfast Mrs Gull pushed a pin into your hem, and for once you did not pick it back up.