Small black fine line cross tattoo on the back of a woman's neck, with blonde hair pulled up to one side.

Small cross on the back of the neck

Fine line · Neck · Black and grey · Photo

A small, single black cross with looped, open ends sits on the back of the neck, just above a small mole. The linework is thin and even, and the design is solid black with no shading. The photograph is taken from behind and shows a pink tank top strap and blonde hair held to one side, with the tattoo placed near the centre of the frame.

Fine line Neck Cross Symbol

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mind the box hedge, it bites, and sit where the sun's been all afternoon, because this is a long one and my knees won't let me stand for it. Right. Nineteen hundred and twelve, the year the old wall came down in the gale, there was a gardener here called Tobias Vane who could not abide a closed thing. Every gate he hung, he hung open at the top. Every path he laid, he stopped short of joining. People thought him soft in the head.

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Then the Pennick girl married into the big house across the valley, and her mother wanted a garden to show off, and Tobias was sent for. He pegged out a cross on the lawn with string. Four arms, and every arm curled over itself like a fern uncurling in spring, with the ends left open so nothing could say the thing was finished. The lady asked him why he wouldn't close the loops. He said a closed loop is a door with no handle, and he'd rather a body could walk in and find their own way out.

So he planted it. Box for the arms, lavender for the curls, and at the middle where the arms met, a pale stone he dug out of the stream with his bare hands. The lady died before the lavender took. Tobias kept the cross weeded for forty years on nobody's wages but his own, and when the new owners told him to stop, he said he was only keeping the way open.

He was found on the last morning kneeling by that stone with his boots off and his trowel laid beside him, and the gate at the bottom of the lawn was standing open, the way he'd always hung it. Mind the box, Ruth. Go on, walk in and see how you come out.