Close view of a small fine line arrow tattoo on the inner wrist, drawn as a thin single line with a tiny arrowhead.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small arrow on the inner wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A thin single line runs diagonally across the skin of the inner wrist and ends in a small arrowhead at the lower end. The linework is delicate and even, with no shading, and the ink looks faded and pale against the skin. The background is soft and out of focus, with the wrist filling most of the frame.

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The bus shelter on Corporation Street had lost its glass a decade ago, so the rain came straight in and pooled on the bench where Maren sat with her collar up. Across the road a kebab shop sign buzzed the word OPEN in a dying red. She had the letter in her coat pocket, folded four times, the envelope already soft at the corners from being checked. Her brother had written it in a hand that slanted backwards, the way he wrote when he was drunk or frightened, and she could never tell which from the ink alone.

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The number on the back belonged to a pawnbroker in Digbeth who had closed in March. She had walked there anyway, through the market, past the stalls where men sold phone chargers out of carrier bags. The shutter was down. Someone had chalked a thin line across the grey metal and a single point at its end, the way kids mark a score, and she stood looking at it for a long time before she understood it was a direction. Left, then down the canal towpath, where the lamps were out.

She went. The water was black and still and smelled of diesel. At the old lock gates a figure in a yellow vest was smoking, and when she asked after Danny he only lifted his chin toward the far bank, where a single bulb burned over a narrow door. She didn't knock. She pushed the letter under it, and in the gap she saw the flicker of someone rising from a chair, and she turned and walked back the way she had come, the arrow still in her head, pointing somewhere she no longer needed to go.

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