Black line drawing tattoos of a face and geometric figures on an upper arm, beside a grey t-shirt with a text patch.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Line drawing tattoos on an upper arm

Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A person with pale silver-grey hair wears a grey t-shirt with a peach-edged fabric patch reading LEAVE ME ALONE on the chest. Black linework tattoos on the upper arm show a cone-shaped figure, a face and angular geometric shapes. The ink is black and grey against pale skin and a plain light background.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Day 214 on Tessaly Relay. The supply tender docked at noon and brought me nothing but a sealed crate of filters and a note from Dispatch asking, once again, whether I would consider a second operator. I have answered that question four times. Instead I drew a cone on the back of the form, with a small face tucked under its brim, and sent it back on the return cradle. Ilse would laugh if she ever read it, but the cradle goes to the sorting hub and the hub goes to nobody.

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The relay hums through the floor at a pitch I have stopped hearing unless I am trying to sleep. Most mornings I walk the rim of the dish with a slate and log the drift in the mesh panels, angular plates that tilt themselves back into line when the particle wind pushes them off true. They are beautiful the way a well-made lock is beautiful. Nobody asked me to notice that. I notice it anyway, the way you notice someone standing too close in a queue.

Yesterday the dish caught a signal from the old beacon at Harrow Gap, three centuries dead and still repeating its one word. I wrote the word down. It was ALONE, the last word on a fabric patch I packed years ago and never sewed onto anything. The patch is in a crate somewhere between here and Earth, and I find I miss it more than I expected.

Tomorrow I will climb the mast and fix the drift myself. If Harrow Gap sends its word again, I will let it run and keep the cold company for a while.

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