Fine line drawing of a hand mid finger snap with the words SNAP OUT OF IT across the fingers, shown as a flash design for a hand tattoo.

Snap out of it hand design

Fine line · Hand · Black and grey · Flash

A single-weight black line drawing of a raised hand with black painted nails, fingers pinched together in a snap. The words SNAP OUT OF IT are lettered across the knuckles and fingers, with simple contour lines defining the hand and wrist. The image is in black ink on a plain white background with no shading or colour.

Fine line Lettering Hand Hand Nail polish Quote

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

At the toll house on Ashgrove Bridge, where the river still marks a border the two kingdoms on either side have stopped arguing about, Mabel Dunne kept the ledger and the snapping. Travellers came over the planks and forgot their errands. They stood at the rail watching the brown water until somebody cracked a finger in their face. Mabel's grandmother had the knack, and her mother, and now Mabel, who could bring thumb and middle finger together and make a sound like a dry stick breaking. The stranger would blink, look about, and remember a wife, a debt, a cart left unattended on the far bank.

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One wet spring a young man arrived with a cart of geese and no papers. He had been standing at the middle of the bridge for three days. The guards said the river had him. Mabel walked out with her hand already raised. He did not look dazed, only tired, and he told her plainly that the water kept saying his mother's name, and he wanted to hear the rest of the sentence. Mabel said there was no rest of any sentence, it was only water. He said he had heard that from the water too.

She snapped anyway. He blinked, and blinked again, and looked down at his boots with mild disappointment. "Thank you," he said, and then, slowly, "that isn't my mother's voice." He walked off the bridge with the geese complaining after him. Mabel stayed at the rail. Behind her the ledger lay open, and she realised the river had been saying something to her as well, a word she had heard so long she had taken it for her own breathing. The word was her name.

She lifted her hand and snapped again, hard, at nothing. The crack carried across both banks so that a guard on the far side dropped his pipe. Then she sat down on the toll step and, for the first time in forty years, waited for someone else to snap her out of it.