Black fine line tattoo of two crossed arrows with the names Karen and Micah and the date June 21st 2014, on the inner forearm near the wrist.

Crossed arrows with names and date on forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A close photograph of a black tattoo on the inner forearm near the wrist, with a hand and a gold spiked bracelet visible above it. Two thin black arrows cross in an X shape, with the words KAREN and MICAH set on either side of the crossing point and JUNE 21ST 2014 written in smaller lettering below. The ink is solid black with no shading, and the blurred grey and green background keeps the focus on the tattoo.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Arrow Crossed arrows Lettering Name Date

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The fletcher's shop stood where the last oaks gave way to the village, and every autumn my master sent me into the trees to cut ash for shafts. I was twelve the year I found the crossed arrows in the leaf litter below the old boundary stone. Both were fletched with grey goose feathers and neither had snapped. They had been loosed from opposite sides of the hazel gap, and they lay across each other in the mud like two hands folded in prayer, or two strangers who had decided not to speak.

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Nobody in the village claimed them. Old Tobias Venn said they belonged to the Marsh brothers, who had quarrelled over a hart for three summers, but the Marsh brothers had both gone to the coast years before. I took them home anyway and hung them over the workbench, where the light from the window caught the fletching. Mistress Dorrit, who kept the bakehouse and knew everybody's business, looked at them once and said a crossing was never an accident, only a matter of who had the patience to wait for it.

Years later a surveyor came through asking after the boundary stone, and I walked him out to it. Beneath the moss, where I had never thought to look, someone had cut two names and a date into the granite. The letters were shallow and the frost had softened their edges, but I could still read them. The surveyor took a rubbing and laughed at me for standing so long over a rock. I did not tell him the date was the day my master first let me shoot.

The arrows still hang above my bench. I straighten them every morning before I light the stove, the way you would straighten a picture frame, and I have never once been able to tell whether they are pointing at each other or away.