Small black zigzag wave tattoo on the neck behind an ear, in a fine line style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Zigzag wave tattoo behind the ear

Fine line · Neck · Black and grey · Photo

A close view of the side of a person's head showing a small black tattoo of stacked zigzag wave lines on the skin behind the ear. The lines are crisp and solid with no shading, and the ear and a small stud earring are visible beside it. The image is in warm, soft tones with the rest of the skin and dark hair kept out of focus.

Fine line Neck Zigzag Wave Line Symbol

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The boats came in on the flood that autumn, ten of them, and Maud Scarrow counted them from the harbour wall the way her mother had taught her, by the lamp on each mast. Ten lamps. She counted again with her cold hands jammed in her apron. The eleventh was the Hebe, and the Hebe had gone out past the Skerries three days before with Tom Ackroyd at the tiller and nothing to keep him company but a stoneware jug of spring water and a bad feeling about the weather.

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Her gran had a saying for times like this. The sea takes what it is owed, and whoever carries the water must pay it back in water. Nobody in Carrick Haven knew who the water-bearer had been, only that he had walked the shingle one hard winter with a jug on his shoulder, pouring a little into the surf for every boat the sea had swallowed, and that when his jug was empty he was simply no longer there. The fleet kept the habit ever after, though most of them called it nonsense on a Tuesday.

Maud went down to the slip with the cracked jug from the dresser. It was heavier than she remembered. She knelt on the wet stone and tipped it out slowly, and the water ran off the lip in a thin line that the wind folded into small zigzags before the sea took them. She said Tom's name, then the names of the others, every one of them, and the jug went light in her hands the way a thing does when it has been given away.

At first light the Hebe came round the point with her sail torn and her lamp still burning in the grey. Tom waded up the slip soaked to the skin and said the jug had gone over in the swell on Wednesday, that they had tasted nothing but salt for two days. Then the rain had come in one clean squall, enough to fill the cask and their hats. He looked at Maud's empty hands and then at the dark ring on the stone. 'Someone was paying out,' he said.