Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Fine line star burst on an inner forearm
Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo
A small star burst made of thin black lines, with eight diamond-shaped points radiating from a central point across the inner forearm. Each arm of the design ends in a fine dot, and the outlines are crisp and even with no shading. The ink is solid black on pale skin, set against a soft, out-of-focus light background.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
The whiteout came down off the top field at four, and by half past I couldn't see the byre from the back door. Dad's torch had died in the cold two nights before, so I took the star chart he kept pinned inside the feed shed, the one he'd drawn on the back of a seed invoice and never let anyone fold. Eight points, each one a bearing from the yard gate, and at the end of every arm a small dot where a post had been sunk into the bank.
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I went out on the north point with my glove in my teeth and counted. The snow filled the thin lines first, then the diamonds, so I stopped reading the paper and started reading the posts, pressing my palm against each one until the wood felt familiar. The ewes were calling from the shed, a thin hoarse sound that kept shifting left, so I trusted the dots over my ears. Third post, fourth, the dip where the drain runs under the gate. My hands had stopped being hands by then.
The last dot was not a post at all. It was the shed door, painted the same blue as the chart's ink, which Dad had marked with a single stroke when he was a boy and wanted a way home from the far fields. I got my shoulder against it and fell inside among the straw, and a lamb nosed at my collar as if it had been waiting for someone to read the map properly.
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