Colour tattoo of stitched wound lines on the inner forearm near the wrist, in red and orange with dark outlines.

Stitched wound design on a wrist

Forearm · Colour · Photo

The tattoo shows a row of stitched sutures across the inner forearm near the wrist, including a curved stitch at the top, a crossed pair in the centre and two trailing, thread-like marks below. Linework is dark and defined, with soft red and orange shading that gives the stitches a raised look. Pinkish blotches on the surrounding skin add to the wound effect, and the image is a close, straight-on photograph of the arm.

Forearm Stitches Scar

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The bark had split again overnight, a long pale seam down the oldest beech at the edge of Hollin Green, and by the time you reached it the sap was already beading along the lips of the wound as if it wanted to be kept in. Your grandmother's needle case was in your coat pocket. She had made you carry it since you were nine, though she never let you use it on anything that mattered.

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Mrs Thorne from the mill house had sent word that the wind had taken the lower gate in the night and that the hedge along the lane was bleeding its hawthorn berries onto the road. You knelt in the leaf mould with a hank of waxed linen between your teeth and worked the first stitch the way she taught you: a tight curve across the top, so the edges would not pull apart when the frost came. Then the crossed pair, one thread drawn over the other, pulled snug until the bark lay flat as a sleeve.

The old women of the village said the forest healed best when it was mended by someone who had once been torn open themselves. You never believed that. You believed in wax and patience. Still, when the last two trailing threads were knotted at the bottom, a cold trickle of resin ran over your knuckles and you did not wipe it away.

By morning the seam had closed to a faint red ridge, and the beech stood among its neighbours with its wound drawn tight. Your grandmother came out at dawn in her shawl, looked at the work for a long moment, and said nothing. Then she pressed her thumb to the stitching, as though checking a hem, and went back indoors to put the kettle on.