Fine line tattoo on the inner forearm of a black outlined circle with a red branch sprouting from its left side and the word survive written in red script across the centre.

Survive script and branch circle on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A black outlined circle sits on the inner forearm, with a thin red branch and small red buds growing from its upper left edge. The word survive is written across the middle of the circle in red cursive script. The linework is clean and fine, with the circle outline slightly heavier and shaded at its lower right, and the photo is taken at a slight angle against a dark, blurred background.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Circle Branch Bud Script Word

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The frost had taken the whole south wall of the walled garden overnight, every fan of pear and plum blackened, and Edie Hollis stood in the cold with a knife in one hand and a flask of tea in the other, deciding which of them to lose. Her brother had already gone to the front. The head gardener had gone with him, and nobody had asked her opinion on anything since.

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Behind the potting shed, under a sheet of tarred cloth, was a cutting of bullace her grandfather had bent into a ring and bound with wire so it would root in a circle. It had not rooted. She had kept it anyway, watering it from the rain butt every Sunday. On the second morning of the thaw she found a thread of green at the bark, then a red bud no bigger than a pinhead, and she sat down on an upturned bucket and cried for the first time since the telegram.

She wrote a word on a luggage tag in her best hand, using the red copying ink from the estate office because the black had frozen in its bottle. Survive, in looping letters, the way her mother had taught her to write on birthday cards. She tied the tag to the wire and hung it on the one wall of the shed that still held heat from the stove.

When Frank came home in the spring with one arm in a sling, he found the ring climbing the brick, leaves pushing through at the corners, and the tag gone soft and pink with weather. He read it twice and said nothing. Then he took the knife from the potting shed and went out to cut a second ring, as if he meant to try again.