Two crossed wrists held together, one with a small solid black downward triangle and the other with a small outline triangle, in a minimal geometric style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Two small triangles on inner wrists

Geometric · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Two hands clasp over crossed forearms against a plain pale background. On the left wrist is a small solid black triangle pointing downwards, and on the right wrist is a small outline triangle, both drawn with clean, fine linework. The photograph is softly lit, with the tattoos placed near the centre of the frame.

Geometric Fine line Forearm Triangle Geometric shape Wrist Hand

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Every morning at Hollin Pit my father hung the brass checks on the board by the lamp room door, one for each man going below, and every evening he turned them over as they came up. I was sixteen the spring I took over the chalk. Mrs Gray had the lamps and I had the board, and I had worked out my own way of keeping it: a solid black triangle for a shift still under, pointing down the shaft like a plumb line, and an open one for a man safely up, pointing at the sky.

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Len never liked the board. He said it was a sum that never came out, and he would wipe the chalk with his sleeve so the lads could not see who was late. But he let me mark his wrist with the stub of blue pencil before each cage, a thing we had done since we were small, the same little triangle pressed onto the skin so the banksman could see it from the rope. Down, I said. Up, he always said back, and grinned, as if the word were a joke between us.

On the Thursday the water came into the east roadway just after the one o'clock buzzer. The cage bell rang twice, then stopped, and the whole village stood at the top of the lane saying nothing. I stood at the board with my pencil, and my hands would not keep still. Mrs Gray put the kettle on and nobody drank from it.

It was near dawn when the wheel began to turn backwards and the cage came up with eleven men in it, grey to the eyebrows and blinking. Len was last out. He held up his wrist, the blue mark smudged to nothing, and said Up before I could say anything at all. I took the chalk from my apron and drew the open triangle on the board beside his name, sharp and small, pointing at the sky, and I did not wipe it off for a long time.