Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Small semicolon tattoo on the inner wrist
Fine line · Other · Black and grey · Photo
A small, solid black semicolon sits on the inner wrist, shown against pale skin with a hand raised above it. The linework is clean and fine, with no shading, and the ink is a single dark tone. The tattoo is placed low on the right of the frame, with the blurred background of a dark sofa and a brown wall behind the hand.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
You have the lettering pot open on the tailboard of the wagon when Mr Dunmore comes round the corner of the big top with the last of the posters under his arm, still wet at the edges. Forty years of Dunmore's Travelling Marvels and the bills have shrunk to the width of a bread board. He hands you the brush without looking at you, the way he hands out wages now.
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The town of Harrowby has two streets and a bingo hall, and the wind off the flats takes the paper before anyone can read it. You paint anyway. Red for the lion who died in March, black for the elephant who was sold to a farm near Wrexham, a tiny gold star where the trapeze used to hang. The girl from the high wire has gone to work in a call centre in Leeds and sends a postcard each Christmas with no return address.
On the final bill, you stop. Dunmore wants THE END in capitals, the way it has always been, with a flourish underneath. Your hand will not do it. Instead you make a dot, leave a gap of one breath, then draw the small curled tail beneath it, and the poster reads: Tonight, we are still here;
Dunmore squints at it for a long time. Then he laughs, a rusty sound, and says the tent can stand another week if the rain holds off. You screw the lid back on the paint and wait for the lights to come up over the empty ring.
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