Black and white photo of a small fine line semicolon tattoo on the inner wrist of a raised hand.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small semicolon tattoo on inner wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A raised hand is shown palm-side with a small semicolon tattoo on the inner wrist. The mark is made of a solid dot above a curved stroke, drawn in clean, thin black linework with no shading. The photograph is black and white, and the background includes a patterned fabric on the right and a blurred interior on the left.

Fine line Forearm Semicolon Punctuation Minimal Wrist

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The forme was locked and ready on the stone when Ada noticed the full stops were gone. Mr Pardoe had set the whole obituary by lamplight, forty lines of Mrs Hartley's life, and then he had knocked the case of stops off the bench and down the cellar steps, and now there was nothing left in the shop to end a sentence with.

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Ada knelt among the spilt sorts and rummaged the compartments. Her uncle had sorted the cases badly before he died, and every box she opened held semicolons, hundreds of them, small and dented and smelling of ink. Pardoe came up the steps swearing softly at the stairs. He picked one up between finger and thumb and turned it to the gaslight. "A semicolon says the thing is not finished," he said. "Mrs Hartley is finished."

"Then let her finish in the middle of a line," Ada said. She had read the copy twice. It told of the orchard her husband planted, the three daughters who wouldn't come home for the funeral, and the last thing she said to the kitchen window before she went to bed. Pardoe read it too, lips moving, and for a long while he said nothing. Then he took the semicolon from her and set it himself, and the paper went to press that night with the dot above the curve, the way Ada had asked.

The parish paper came back on Thursday with a note from the vicar pinned to the first copy. He wrote that the obituary was the only thing in the village he had read twice, and that he had not yet decided whether the sentence was still going on.

Ada kept one spare semicolon in her apron pocket after that, worn smooth from being turned over in her fingers. When a new galley came up she set it first, at the top, where nothing had yet been decided.