Black and white photograph of two fingers on a hand, each with a simple black smiley face drawn on the skin.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Smiley faces on two fingers

Hand · Black and grey · Photo

Two fingers are shown against a black background, each with a simple black smiley face. The top finger has a face with two dot eyes and a wide open smile, and the second finger has a face with closed, curved eyes and a smile. The linework is thin and uniform, and the black and white photograph keeps the focus on the bright skin and the simple designs.

Hand Smiley face Smile Finger Hand

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The dust had been up for nine days when the relay went quiet, and the north dome lost its last voice. The only thing left was the airlock window, a pane of thick glass no bigger than a dinner tray, and the grease pencil Teodor kept in his overall pocket for labelling tins. Before he set out for the relay mast, he had drawn two faces on my fingers, one grinning wide, one with its eyes shut in pleasure, and told me the tiny arms were for waving. I laughed at him. I laughed less on the fourth night.

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Each evening at six I pressed those two fingers to the glass, facing the road, and waited for the rover lamp to blink through the brown. Nothing came. The gauge said the scrubbers had four days left, and the ration tins had started to taste of the tins. So I talked to the glass instead. I told it about the tide clock in the greenhouse, which had stopped at a quarter past eleven and which I could not bring myself to set, and about the seed trays that had sprouted crooked, all leaning one way like a crowd trying to see something.

On the sixth evening the lamp came. It was not a blink but a steady white light that swung across the dust and stopped, and then a second light rose beside it, and a gloved hand appeared in the grey with two fingers raised, pressed against the outside of the glass. I could not see his face through the visor, only the bulk of the suit and a smear of grease on the glove. Then he drew something in the dust film on the window, slowly, with the same clumsy care he gave everything. Two curves. Two small arms. I pressed my fingers to the pane, and we grinned at each other through a metre of air that was almost nothing and entirely enough.