Close-up of a hand resting on an arm, with simple black chevron tattoos on two fingers and gold and bronze rings worn on the hand.

Chevron tattoos on fingers

Geometric · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

A close view of a hand resting against a forearm, with a light grey wall behind. Two sets of black chevron lines sit on the fingers, drawn as thin, even strokes with no shading. The palette is neutral skin tones and metallic rings, with soft, even lighting and a plain background.

Geometric Fine line Hand Chevron Arrow Ring Hand

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The corridor lights on Tern Deck failed in the third watch, which is why I was counting chevrons by touch when Oyelaran found me. Every hatch on the ring is marked with them, three arrowheads nested one inside the next, painted there so a person could follow the way without a screen. Sixty years of dust had dulled the paint, but not the grooves.

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"The pumps are running the wrong way," she said. She kept turning a brass ring between her fingers, the old kind the Drift Office gave out to anyone who signed for a night shift, the way other people chewed pencils. "Ninety-one people sleep past Ash Hatch. The arrows say hydroponics. They don't go there."

We followed the marks backwards. Each chevron pointed the way we had come, which nobody had noticed because nobody walked backwards. At the sealed bulkhead the last one was cut deeper than the rest, and someone had rubbed gold dust into it so it still caught our torch when everything else had gone grey.

We opened the hatch with the ring key. Behind it the air was cold and smelled of rain that had never once fallen on Tern. Oyelaran pressed the brass into the groove, and down the length of the passage the arrows seemed to turn on their own, every one of them now pointing at us. We went forward, which for once meant the same thing as going home.