Small black script tattoo on the upper back of a woman with a fishtail braid, holding a watermelon slice on a beach.

Small script tattoo on a woman's upper back

Back · Black and grey · Photo

A woman seen from behind wears a white off-shoulder top and has a loose fishtail braid falling over one shoulder. A small black script tattoo sits on her upper back, too fine to read clearly, with a slice of watermelon and a sunlit beach behind her. The image is a warm, natural-light lifestyle photo in which the tattoo is a minor detail.

Back Script Braid Beach

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The third melon split on the sand before Joss Abernethy had finished swearing at it, and by then the gulls had already decided the morning belonged to them. He swept the grit off the cutting board with his forearm and looked up the beach towards the car park, where the Thursday ferry from Penhallow would unload anyone who was coming home.

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His sister's letter lived in a biscuit tin under the counter, folded into quarters. Nell wrote in a hand so small and neat it looked like printing from a machine that had been taught manners. The last line said only: Keep the stall open, and keep the good knife sharp, I am bringing a man who thinks watermelon is a vegetable. Joss had read it nine times and still did not know whether to be pleased or to hide the knife.

By noon the tide had crept up the slipway and taken the chalkboard sign, so he sold his slices from the open tailgate and called out prices to the sunburnt families who drifted over like moths. A stranger in a white shirt asked for two slices and paid in coins that had been warm in a pocket. Joss gave her the wedges with the thickest rind, because that was the bit his mother used to pickle, and he told her the sea had been stealing his signs all summer.

At four he sat on the tailgate with a skewer and a fresh half-melon. He pressed the point into the pale green rind and wrote a short reply, one word for each of Nell's lines, then pushed the rind out past the breakers and watched the current take it. Tomorrow she would ask him what he had written, and he would tell her the sea had the answer now, and she would roll her eyes the way she always did.