Black and white photo of a tiny fine line lightning bolt tattoo on the inner wrist, with a thin ring on the hand resting on a leather seat.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small lightning bolt on a wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small, single lightning bolt outline sits on the inner wrist, drawn in thin black linework with a simple zigzag shape. The photograph is black and white and shows the hand resting on a dark leather seat, with the tattoo as the clear focal point. The composition is close and cropped to the wrist and hand, with soft light and a plain background.

Fine line Forearm Lightning bolt Lightning Zigzag

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Ada,

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The wire between Hull and Grimsby went down again at ten past two, and I was the only one on the key when it happened. Mr Pargeter had gone out to the yard for his pipe, and the storm came over the Humber like a dropped tray of cutlery. The sounder clattered, then went silent, then gave me one long dash that wasn't in any code I knew. I sat there with my fingers on the brass and thought, that's the sky talking.

I wrote the fault in the log the way Pargeter taught me: time, weather, nature of fault, action taken. Under action taken I left nothing for a long while. Then I took the spare coil down to the cellar, sleeves rolled in the damp, and found the break where a rat had been chewing the insulation like toffee. I mended it with tape and prayer. When I climbed back up, the bell was ringing, and it was Grimsby asking whether we were still alive.

I didn't tell them about the flash. I keep thinking of it, the way the light split white over the dock gates, a jag that seemed to step down from the cloud like someone testing the ground before crossing. Pargeter says the sky has no memory, but I'm not so sure. A thing that quick and that sharp ought to leave some mark behind.

Come home at Whitsun. The sounder is quiet tonight, and I think it's the first night I've slept through a storm in a year.

Love, Lottie