Two clasped hands with small black chevron tattoos on the fingers, shown in a simple outdoor photograph.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small chevron tattoos on fingers

Hand · Black and grey · Photo

Two hands are clasped together, with small solid black chevron or arrow shapes on several fingers, most clearly on the middle and index fingers. The lines are bold and simple with flat black ink and no shading. The image is a close square crop against a pale grey ground, with the fingers and hands filling most of the frame.

Hand Chevron Arrow Triangle Finger Hand

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Maggie drew them in biro on the back of a Latin vocab sheet in the Year Nine lab, and nobody at Holme Valley High thought they meant anything except trouble. Chevrons, she said, because they point the way you're already going. We were fourteen, and we thought that was the most profound thing anyone had ever said at a bus shelter in the rain.

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Twenty-two years later the reunion is in the same sports hall, which still smells of floor polish and squash. I find her by the trestle table of warm prosecco, holding a plastic cup in one hand. She lifts it without looking round, and I lift mine to meet it, the two of us lining up the little black points on our fingers like people checking a map against the ground.

Somebody's dad is running the raffle with a tombola drum that rattles like a loose tooth. Maggie tells me the ink was a terrible idea, that a man in a back room in Leeds did it for twenty quid with a machine that buzzed like a wasp, and that she has meant to have it tidied up for years. I tell her I never thought we'd point in different directions. She laughs the way she did when Mr Harrod caught us passing notes.

Then the DJ plays the song from the Year Eleven disco, and the whole hall shifts toward the floor. Maggie tugs my hand, and we go, the two of us pointing the only way we ever agreed on.