Small black fine line symbol tattoo on an ankle, with a bare foot resting on white bedding beside a teal mug of coffee.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small black symbol tattoo on an ankle

Fine line · Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

A bare foot rests on white bedding, showing a small black symbol tattoo on the ankle, drawn in thin, simple linework with no shading. A hand holds a teal mug of coffee in the foreground, and the person wears blue and pink striped pyjamas. The image is a top-down, softly lit shot with the tattoo as a small detail in the lower left of the frame.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The ink had gone thick in the well again, so Edie licked the nib and tried not to curse, because Mr Pryce hated cursing and hated smudges more. Outside the chart room window, the Humber was the colour of wet slate. She had been copying soundings since six, and her eyes ached from the small brown numerals crowding the margins of the old survey.

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The trouble was the shoal off the point. Every chart in the office showed clear water there, but Edie had walked the shingle at low tide with her uncle's dog and watched the swell stand up and break, in the same place, every time, over nothing at all. A ridge of sand, maybe, or a wreck that had settled deep. Nobody had written it down because nobody had looked long enough to be bored.

She drew the mark anyway, in the corner where the draughtsman's ink would leave no trace. It was a loop with a tail, the shape the water made when it rolled back over itself, and beneath it she wrote nothing at all. Mr Pryce would have sent it back with a red line through it.

Three weeks later the Harbour Board sent a steamer to sound the point, and the captain, who had no patience for ghost stories, came back with a dented lead line and a note asking who had drawn the swell mark. Edie kept the letter in her coat pocket for the rest of her working life, folded small, and never once told him.

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