Black and white photo of a small fine line arrow tattoo on the top of a foot resting on a white platform shoe.

Small arrow tattoo on the foot

Fine line · Other · Black and grey · Photo

A small arrow with a feathered fletching at one end and a pointed head at the other, drawn in thin black linework with no shading. The foot rests on a white platform shoe against a textured light grey carpet, and the photograph is in black and white. The tattoo sits near the centre of the frame, leaving most of the foot and shoe in soft focus.

Fine line Other Arrow

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The arrow came down from the twelfth floor of Harrow Point on a Tuesday, stuck point-first in the lino of the lift lobby, and nobody on the estate could agree whose it was. Mrs Okafor said it belonged to the boy in flat 40 who shot at the pigeons with a bent bow. The boy said it had come out of the sky, which he pointed out was where arrows usually came from.

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Old Tomasz on the ground floor knew better. He had made arrows for forty years in a shed behind the bins, and he recognised the fletching: three goose feathers, cut by hand and bound with waxed red thread. Nobody made fletching like that now. He carried it up the stairs himself, one landing at a time, because the lift had been broken since March, and knocked on the door of 1207.

A woman answered with a kettle in her hand. She looked at the arrow, then at him, and said she had been waiting for someone to come asking, though she hadn't known who. Her grandmother had been a fletcher too, in a village where the arrows flew over the river and landed in the orchards. The old rule was that an arrow must always land where its maker meant it to, or it would go looking for them.

Tomasz held it out. She took it and laid it flat against her palm, and the feathers stirred once, as though someone had breathed on them. Then she laughed, set the kettle down, and said he had better come in, because the lift was not the only thing on the estate that had been stuck.