Small solid black trident tattoo on the inner wrist of an outstretched hand, with waves breaking on a beach behind.

Small trident tattoo on the wrist

Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small, solid black trident sits on the inner wrist of an arm held out towards the sea. The design has a bold silhouette with a pointed central prong and two curved side prongs, and it is rendered in flat black ink with no visible shading. The blurred background of surf and wet sand gives the photograph a shallow depth of field, which keeps the tattoo as the sharpest point of focus.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Old Ansel Quarry kept the light on Skerrow Head for thirty-one winters, and every one of them the sea took something. It took fishing boats, the bell from the chapel, and once a whole sheep from the Pennick farm, which came ashore three days later still wearing its wool like a coat. Ansel's wife, Maud, said the sea was a landlord who wanted rent. He paid it in lamp oil and driftwood, and he never once thought it would ask for him.

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The summer his granddaughter Bet came to stay, the tide dropped further than anyone remembered and left a three-pronged iron fork stuck in the sand below the rocks. Bet pulled it free. It was no fork from any boat. The tines were worn smooth and the shaft was cold even in August. She carried it up the cliff path under her arm and set it on the lamp room sill, where the glass threw its shadow across the floor.

That night the sea came up the steps and stood at the door, quiet as a neighbour, and a voice said the fork was owed and a keeper's word had been given. Ansel, who had sworn to nothing in his life, understood he had once promised the water a hand for a hand, long before he came to the Head. Bet watched him stretch his arm over the threshold, palm open, wrist bare. The sea took the fork and gave nothing back, but in the morning there was a black mark on Ansel's wrist, a trident, and the tide never again climbed above the third step.

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