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Matching polyhedron tattoos on two forearms
Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo
Two people hold hands, showing matching forearm tattoos of geometric polyhedra drawn in black linework. Each arm carries a diagonal row of five shapes, including forms that resemble an icosahedron, a dodecahedron and a tetrahedron, with fine dotted lines inside some of them. The ink is black on pale skin against a plain grey wall.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
The fluorite came up in a wet sack on a Thursday, and Jory Penhale had sketched its shape on the back of a tally card before his brother got the lamp trimmed. Twelve faces, five meeting at every corner, clear as cold water until you turned it and found the violet hiding in the middle.
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"Dodecahedron," said Wes, reading over his shoulder. "Mother's word. She had it off Miss Trevena's blackboard the year the engine house fell in." Jory did not answer. He was thinking of the cabinet in their mother's front room, and the wire models her father had bent for it, each hung on a thread so the window light could pass through. Her father had told them every crystal was built from the same small rules, and if you learnt the rules you could make any of them with your hands in the dark.
The row on the card ran on a slant, the way the lode ran under the parish: a twenty-sided one, then the twelve, then an eight, a six, and a plain three-cornered point at the bottom. Wes wanted to go down on the morning cage in Jory's place, and they argued it across the sorting table until the kettle boiled dry. In the end Jory let him go, and Wes went down with the card folded in his breast pocket.
At four o'clock the cage came up with nothing in it but Wes, grey to the eyebrows, the card still dry under his coat. He unfolded it on the table and ran his thumb along the lines. Jory had dotted the edges inside each shape, the ones you could never see from the outside of a stone. "Those are the ones that hold it together," Wes said, and went to put the kettle on again.
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