Black and grey photo of a fine line sun with rays and a crescent moon tattooed on the inner forearm near the wrist.

Sun and crescent moon on the inner wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small tattoo of a circular sun with radiating rays sits beside a crescent moon on the inner wrist and forearm. The linework is thin and even, drawn in solid black ink with no shading inside the sun or moon. The photograph is black and white against a dark background, with the hand raised and the tattoo lit from the side.

Fine line Forearm Sun Moon Crescent Ray

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The reunion was held in the old schoolhouse at Thornwick Dene, the year the bell cracked. Everyone came, the bakers and the shepherds and the girl who had married the vicar, and they set out trestle tables under the tall windows. The Sun arrived late, as it always had, its coat still warm from the hills. The Moon did not come at all, which surprised no one, because the Moon had never once walked into a room while the lamps were lit.

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Old Mrs Ferrier, who had taught them both their letters, rapped her cane on the floor and asked for the register. Nobody knew why. She read the names in the old order, and when she reached the two at the back, the Sun answered loudly and the Moon's name hung in the air until a draught from the door carried it off. "Still owes me a slate," she said, and then she told the story the children had always been told about why the two of them could never share a bench.

Once, she said, the Sun and the Moon had been friends, and they had passed notes to each other made of light. But the Sun could not stop shining on the things it loved, and the Moon could not stop turning away from the things it feared. Between them the village went dark at noon one summer and froze at midnight the next. So they were given their own hours, rays on one side and a thin curve on the other, and told to keep to their own edges of the sky.

That evening the Sun walked out to the lane, where the Moon had been waiting by the gate with a pencil behind its ear. They did not embrace. They drew on the schoolhouse wall instead, a circle with its spokes and a sliver tucked beside it. In the morning the village found the shapes pressed into the chalk, one bright and one a little shy of it, sitting side by side as if they had never been apart.