Small solid black anchor tattoo on the middle finger of a hand held in a loose fist, resting on a grey fleece blanket.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small anchor tattoo on a middle finger

Hand · Black and grey · Photo

A small, solid black anchor sits on the side of the middle finger of a hand held in a loose fist. The outline is bold and simple, with a ring at the top, a crossbar and curved flukes filled in black. The soft grey fleece background is plain and the tattoo is the clear focal point.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mags Teague had never once seen the sea from the top of Hollin Keep, though she had lived in its shadow for sixty years. The walls had come down in the great storm of her grandmother's girlhood, and what remained stood out of the gorse like a broken tooth. Nobody climbed it now except the goats.

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The anchor came up out of the shingle the spring the Carrow boat went down. It was no bigger than a child's hand, black with tar and rust, with a ring at its crown and two curved flukes that had been hammered flat by someone who knew iron. Mags carried it home in her apron and set it on the windowsill, where it kept the wind from lifting the sash.

Her son asked why she kept a useless thing. She told him the keep had been built by a man who promised his wife he would never leave the coast. He kept that promise by sinking his own ship in the bay and walking home across the mudflats every evening for thirty years, so he could stand on the ramparts and watch the water. Her son said that was daft. Mags agreed, but she left the anchor where it was.

When the old fisherman finally climbed the cliff path, his boots were full of salt and his hands would not keep still. He saw the sill first, then the window. He did not come in. He only held out his palm, and Mags placed the little iron in it. He closed his fist around it and walked back down toward the water, lighter by one thing he had carried a long way.

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