Black and grey fine line script lettering on the inner ankles of two feet, one reading Feet don't fail me now and the other reading Take me to the finish line.

Two script quote tattoos on ankles

Lettering · Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

Two photographs in one frame show black script lettering tattooed along the inner side of each ankle and lower leg, with the left reading Feet don't fail me now and the right reading Take me to the finish line. The linework is thin and even, with a larger decorative capital F and T at the start of each phrase. The image is in greyscale against a dark background, so the ink appears as solid black on pale skin.

Lettering Fine line Ankle Quote Phrase Text Script word

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

You reach the stile at the edge of Hollin Wood with your lungs full of wet bracken, the church clock behind you striking the half hour, and the whole of Little Ashby somewhere back down the lane, cheering or pretending not to. There are barley sugars in your pocket for the climb. Your legs stopped taking instructions somewhere around the mill race, and you have been talking to them ever since, the way your grandfather talked to his mare, low and insistent.

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The course runs under the beeches, past the charcoal burners' clearing, and across the brook on two planks that Dennis Hobbs renails every spring after the floods. Nobody has finished it in under an hour. You have been told this by three people, one of whom was drunk and one of whom was your mother, and you have chosen to believe the drunk one.

At the planks, Ivy Pargeter, the carrier's daughter, goes past you without seeming to breathe. She glances back and says, "Nearly there," and you tell her something you would not repeat in chapel. She laughs and is gone up the slope like a fox with somewhere to be.

The last field is full of cut grass and the smell of sheep. The finish tape is held between two hurdles by the vicar's wife, and from the hedge you hear your sister calling your name the way she used to when you were small and wanted to lie down in the road. You keep going. Your feet, which have carried you through every wrong turn of the last six miles, do exactly what you asked them to do. Only when the tape touches your chest do you let them fail, all at once, into the cut grass.