Fine line black tattoo on a forearm showing three arrows, two with hearts and the word love written in script between them.

Three arrows with hearts and love on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo shows three arrows pointing up and to the right, each with a fletched tail, with a small heart on the top and bottom arrows and the word love in cursive script on the middle one. The linework is thin and even, in solid black ink with no shading, and the design sits diagonally across the inside of the forearm. The photograph is a close, evenly lit shot against a blurred denim and brown background, with a black decorative frame around the edges.

Fine line Forearm Arrow Heart Love Script

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The canvas had a tear above the ring the size of a dinner plate, and Mr Vane would not let us patch it because the patch cost more than the lamp oil. So the November wind came through and rattled the boards while Ada drew her bow, and the nine people in the front rows pulled their coats tighter and tried not to look at me standing against the target with my back to the wood.

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"Still, Nell," Ada said, not looking at me. "Stillness is the whole act."

I had been her stillness for eleven seasons. Three arrows, always three, because her late husband had painted them that way: one with a heart on the tail, one with the word love running down its shaft in looping script, and one with a heart near the point. The first went past my left shoulder, the second cut the air so close to my ear I felt it in my teeth, and the third struck low by my hip where the hem of my spangled skirt caught the wood. The children always clapped loudest, which was how we knew they had been warned it was dangerous.

That last night in Ashby there were only nine of them, mostly the baker's family, who had come because the baker's wife felt sorry for us. Afterwards Ada sat on an upturned crate and counted the takings into a biscuit tin, then stopped counting and started to cry, very quietly, the way she did everything. I didn't go to her. She would have hated being seen.

In the morning the wagons were sold to a scrap man from Doncaster, and Mr Vane shook our hands twice. Ada pressed the third arrow into my palm, the one that had gone low, its feathers bent. "Keep that one," she said. "The ones that miss are the ones you remember." The lamps were already out along the lane behind us, and I could still feel the little heart near the point when I closed my fist.