Hand with colourful space tattoos on four fingers, showing Earth, a UFO, a ringed planet and a rocket against blue and purple galaxy backgrounds, placed on the fingers.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Space motifs across four fingers

Hand · Colour · Photo

A hand rests on a black leather surface with a small space-themed tattoo on each of four fingers: Earth, a UFO with a yellow beam, a ringed planet and a rocket. Each motif sits on a soft blue and purple galaxy wash with faint speckled stars. The planets and craft have defined outlines and shading, while the backgrounds blend smoothly into the skin, and the palette is bright and mostly cool-toned.

Hand Earth Ufo Planet Saturn Rocket Galaxy Space Star

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The reunion is in the same sports hall at Ashby Park where you once lost a netball match and a front tooth on the same wet afternoon. You are hovering by the trestle table, reading name badges that somebody has printed in Comic Sans, when you spot Maureen Pike across the room holding a paper plate of vol-au-vents like a shield. She sees you, and her face does the thing it used to do before a joke.

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In Year Nine you drew the solar system inside the cover of your planner. Earth was a blue biro marble, Saturn had rings you rubbed out and redrew until the paper thinned, and there was a UFO with a yellow beam you had copied off the back of a cereal box. The rocket was Maureen's idea. She said every planet needed a way out, and Mr Harker moved her to the front for laughing at the wrong moment.

Now she crosses the hall with her handbag swinging and pulls a page from it, folded soft as cloth. The galaxy is still there, a smudge of purple you made with a wet thumb, and the four little worlds sit in the corners as if they had been waiting for you. 'You said we'd all go to the moon,' she says. 'Those were your words, not mine.'

You look at the badge on your lapel, the cheap laminate and the wrong spelling of your surname, and you admit that you never got past the car park at Ashby Park, which is more than most of your rockets managed. She laughs, then folds the page along its old crease and slides it into your jacket pocket, right over the heart, where a little rocket might have fitted.