Small wishbone outline on a wrist
Fine line · Hand · Black and grey · Photo
A small wishbone is drawn in a single thin black outline on the inner side of a wrist. The linework is even and clean, with no shading or fill. The hand is photographed against a dark car seat with a grey sleeve at the cuff, and the tattoo sits in the centre of the frame.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
Sit in close, the lot of you, the rain is coming sideways off the Dock Street roofs and it will have your collars if you let it. Mrs Abernethy kept the eel stall under the iron gate, and every Thursday she boiled the Sunday chicken for stock and stood the wishbone on the sill to dry, same as her mother did before her. Nobody touched that bone. Nobody was allowed.
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Then one wet morning young Tobias Pell, nine years old and hopping from one soggy boot to the other, asked her what a wish was worth. She told him a wish was worth exactly the pulling. So he took the bone by its two arms, screwed his eyes shut like a sensible boy, and pulled. The long piece came away in his fist. He had the luck, and he had to choose, and he chose quickly, the way children do when they are frightened of being cheated.
He wished for the rain to stop over the market. It didn't. It went on for three more days, the gutters ran brown, and the eels went soft in their trays. But on the Friday his mother came walking up Dock Street with a suitcase and no coat, soaked to the bone herself, and she laughed out loud when she saw him. Tobias never told anybody what he had really wished for. He only said the rain had been listening and had got the wrong end of the stick.
The bone is still on my sill, if you're wondering. Dry as a biscuit. Mind the drip on your way out.
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