Woman seen from behind with a small black fine line script tattoo on her upper back, wearing a white open-back vest and pastel tie-dye denim shorts.

Small script tattoo on upper back

Fine line · Back · Black and grey · Photo

A woman stands on a woodland path with her back to the camera, one arm raised and her hand in her hair. A small, thin black script tattoo sits on her upper back between the shoulder blades, too small to read clearly at this size. The warm, low sunlight and green foliage give the photograph a soft, natural colour palette.

Fine line Lettering Back Script Text Woman

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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 envelope came up Quarry Lane without a stamp, which meant someone had carried it rather than trust the van. Ivy Pascoe turned it over twice on the post office counter before slitting it with the butter knife. Inside was a single sheet torn from a seed catalogue, and a line of pencil so faint she had to tilt it toward the window to read it.

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The line was a direction, not a poem. Keep to the left where the stones are dry. She knew the path it meant. Every child in Hollin Cross had been walked along it at least once, past the sycamore with the initials gouged in its bark, down to the old quarry pool where the water turned green by July. Her brother Walter had written the same words on the back of a ration card in 1944 and posted it to her from Naples. She had kept that card in the tin with the spare buttons, meaning to ask him what he'd meant. He never came home to be asked.

That afternoon Ivy pinned her skirt, put on her walking shoes, and went up the path with the sun behind the trees. The stones on the left were dry. The right side was soft with rain. At the far edge of the pool, where the bank rose, someone had pressed a flat grey stone into the moss, and a name was cut into it in capitals she didn't recognise, with a smaller word beneath that she would not have chosen to read aloud.

She sat on the warm stone until the shadows reached the water. Then she walked home the dry way, and when she got back to the shop she hung the card in the window where the postal rates used to be, and wrote on it, in her own hand, Back at Two.