Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Small cross on an ankle
Fine line · Ankle · Black and grey · Photo
A small upright cross is tattooed on the side of a foot, just above the ankle bone. The cross is drawn in thin, dark black linework with simple, even strokes and no shading. The plain skin around it and the braided tan sandal strap across the foot leave the tattoo as the clear focus of the photo.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
The bell-ringer of Harrow Mere had only one rope left that would still hold, and Edith Pell knew it because she had tested every strand herself the winter her husband went under the ice. She tied the last good length to the tower beam on the morning the flood came up the lane, and she hauled the bell down by hand while the water crept over the cobbles to her shins. Nobody asked her to. The miller's boy had climbed onto the wall with his mother's goat under one arm, and the goat had opinions about the matter.
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When the bell finally swung, its sound went out flat and thin over the drowned fields, and the people on the higher ground turned toward it the way sailors turn toward a lamp. They counted the strokes. They walked by the sound through the rain, past the gatepost that had fallen, past the cart that had tipped, until the whole village stood on the rise in their stockings and their nightshirts, breathing hard, every one of them accounted for.
It was the inn-keeper's wife who noticed the old carved post at the crossroads had gone under with the rest of the lane. Someone had nailed a small upright cross to it years back, a plain thing cut from ash, and that too was lost to the water. Edith said she had seen it go, and that it had not been much to look at, only a line with a shorter line set across near the top, the kind of mark a person makes to say here, I was here, and I meant to come back.
They built the new one from the same wood the spring after, and the bell was rehung on a rope none of them trusted, and every flood since has been counted by its strokes.
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