Black and white photo of a small fine line script tattoo on the upper arm of a person with the arm raised, wearing a lace bra and denim shorts.

Small script tattoo on upper arm

Fine line · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A close crop of a torso and raised arm shows a small, thin black script word on the upper arm near the armpit. The linework is fine and even, with the letters sitting on the skin without shading. The image is black and white, with the person wearing a loose white top, a black lace bra and frayed denim shorts against a plain pale background.

Fine line Lettering Upper arm Script Word

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The fleet went out from Skerrow before the light, eleven boats with their lamps turned low, and the women of the harbour stood on the wall to count them. Old Anna Vell had a rule about counting: she never said the number aloud until the last hull was over the bar. Her son Tomas had gone out in the Mercy with the others, and the wind had got up in the night.

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Anna's husband had painted a name on every boat he ever built, but he had never marked the Mercy because she was his father's boat, and he said a name was a thing you earned. So on the morning they sailed, Anna took a tin of blue lead paint and a brush no thicker than a hair and climbed down to the slip. She wrote one word on the inside of the transom, where no one but the man at the tiller would ever see it. The word was come, in the old hand her mother had taught her, every letter as thin as thread.

The storm came over the water at noon and the lamps went out one by one. The women on the wall counted again and again, and each time it came to ten. Anna did not sleep. She sat by the window with her hands in her lap and said the word over, quietly, the way you would call a dog home from the dunes.

At dusk the Mercy came round the point with her sail torn and nine men aboard, and Tomas at the tiller grinning like a fool. Nobody asked him how. When he came up the steps Anna looked at him for a long moment and said only, "You read it, then." He said he had not, not until the wind dropped and he saw the paint catching the last of the light. He had steered for it all night.