Small blue script lettering that appears to read Il Roi, tattooed on the inner wrist in a fine, lightly shaded style.

Small blue script lettering on the wrist

Lettering · Other · Colour · Photo

A close photograph of a small word in flowing script tattooed on the inner wrist, with the hand angled slightly so the wrist crease runs down the left side of the frame. The linework is thin and even, in a single dark blue ink, with the letters joined in a looping cursive form. The skin is warm toned and the background is softly out of focus, keeping attention on the lettering.

Lettering Fine line Other Script Word Lettering

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dorota came on at ten, the same as every night, and found the side ward at the end of the fourth floor lit only by the machine beside the bed. The old man in it had been moved from Cardiff in the spring, and nobody on the day shift had bothered to learn his name properly. The notes said Ambrose Field. He called himself nobody in particular and asked for the blind to stay up.

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She sat with him on the nights the agency gave her that floor. He talked about a sheepdog called Moss, about a wife who pegged washing out in the wind, and about the Hebrew name his mother had taught him for the one who sees. El Roi, he said. The God who sees me. He said it the way other men said grace over a plate.

One night the alarm on bed nine sounded for an hour and nobody came. Dorota went down the corridor and found the porter asleep in a chair with his coat still on, and she shook his shoulder until he woke. When she came back, the old man had his hand lifted toward the window, the fingers loose, his lips moving. Outside, a single lamp burned over the car park, and beyond it the hills were black and patient.

He died a little before four with the lamp still on. In the morning the day sister asked who had sat with him, and Dorota said nobody, which was the truth. She thought about that for a long time afterwards. Somebody had seen him, and that was all the form had room for.