Black hand-drawn block lettering reading BREATHE across the inner wrist and forearm, in a lettering style.

BREATHE lettering on a wrist

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

The photograph shows the word BREATHE in bold, black, hand-drawn capital letters across the inner wrist. The lines are even and solid with no visible shading, and the letters are slightly uneven, giving a casual handwritten feel. The skin is pale and the background is an indoor room with a pink and white striped cover, with the tattoo centred in the frame.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Ada Pryce had been holding her breath for the best part of a minute when Mr Haddow reached over and tapped the pipe with his knuckle. The gather hung orange at the end of it, sagging like treacle that couldn't make up its mind. 'You're choking it,' he said. 'Breathe, lass. The glass can't do a thing until you do.'

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She had come to the glassworks at fifteen because her mother's lodger had a cousin who swept the floors, and because the furnace in the cone room was the only warm place on the street after the pit closed. For a month she had blown too hard or not at all, and the bottles came off the marver lopsided and thin on one side. Haddow never raised his voice. He only stood behind her, close enough that she could smell his tobacco, and counted under his breath.

On the Thursday the rain came sideways through the open roof vents and hissed on the cooling racks. Ada stopped counting. She let the air out slowly, the way he had shown her, with the tip of her tongue against her teeth, and felt the bubble swell evenly in the orange light, round as a plum, then round as a moon. It did not wobble. It did not sag. She turned the pipe and it kept its shape.

Haddow carried the finished piece to the annealer without a word and set it in the warm dark to cool. When he came back he handed her a rag and nodded at the window, where her own reflection hung in the wet glass. 'There,' he said. 'That's all it ever was.'

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