Close-up of a small black fine line outline star tattoo on the inner wrist of a person wearing a gold bangle and denim jeans.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small star outline on a wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small five-pointed star is outlined in thin black ink on the inner wrist. The linework is fine and even, with no shading, and the star is shown against bare skin beside a thin gold bangle. The photograph is taken from above, with light denim jeans and a white fluffy sweater filling the rest of the frame.

Fine line Geometric Forearm Star

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Cook had a rule aboard the Marjorie Quill: nobody touched the stove until the kettle had been on for an hour, and nobody asked me why. I kept the rule and the galley spotless, and it was the only room on that tramp steamer where a man could sit down without being shouted at. Old Tessaly came in each morning at four, dragged his chair to the porthole and drank his tea black while the swell rolled the pans against their hooks.

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The night we lost the chart box off Ushant, Tessaly sat with his back to the bulkhead and drew a star on the back of a ration tin label with the stub of a pencil. Five points, no shading, one clean line that never lifted. He held it up to the lamp as if checking it for flaws. "That's the only one that doesn't go round," he said. "Everything else is walking. Find that and you can tell where you've been."

We found it through a gap in the cloud at two in the morning, a smear of light no bigger than a fingernail. I stood on the bridge wing with the cold in my teeth and thought of his drawing. When I came back down, the galley smelled of scorched porridge, and he was already at the porthole, asleep with his cup in his lap and the lamp still burning.

I still have that ration label. It lives folded in the flap of my knife roll, and when the wind turns wrong I unfold it and trace the points with my thumb, the way he used to, until the ship settles back into the water.