Bare feet resting on a glass surface, showing a small black script tattoo on the outer ankle.

Small script tattoo on an ankle

Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

A pair of bare feet stand on a glass surface, with one leg crossed over the other. A small, thin black script or scribbled design sits on the outer ankle of the foot on the left, and the toenails are painted dark red. The image is in colour, with soft neutral tones in the background and a clear reflection of the feet in the glass.

Ankle Feet Ankle Script Small tattoo

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The glass for the fishmonger's new doors came up from Lewes in a van with straw in its corners, and Mr Pollard wanted every letter laid on before the tide turned. I had gold leaf in one tin, size in another, and a sable brush that had belonged to my father. The shop was called Arnold & Daughters, which meant the daughter signed the cheques, and she came down the arcade steps that morning with a pen behind her ear and a receipt already folded in her hand.

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She wanted her own name in the corner, small, the way she signed things, a scribble that ran off the end like a gull lifting off a rail. I had spent three days trying to copy it from the paper and it kept coming out looking like a stranger's handwriting. So I asked her to write it again on the glass with a grease pencil. She did, quick and careless, laughing when the pencil skidded on the cold pane.

Once the grease was down, I laid the gold letter by letter, following the shape of her hand. The sun came through the arcade at the wrong angle, so the name flared on the glass and then, when she stepped back onto the wet pavement, appeared again in the puddle at her feet, backwards and somehow more honest. She said it looked as though it had always been there.

Mr Pollard paid me in cash and a cup of stewed tea. Three winters on, the panes were still up when I walked past, and the gold had gone green at the edges. Her name only read true in the puddles now, face down, the way the sea gives things back. I never found out whether she kept the receipt.