Fine line black script tattoo reading inhale exhale across the upper chest, shown on bare skin beside a white top.

Inhale exhale script on the chest

Fine line · Chest · Black and grey · Photo

A photograph of a thin black script tattoo on the upper chest, reading inhale on the top line and exhale beneath it. The linework is fine and even, with the letters written in a loose, flowing hand. The image is in colour, but the only ink is black against pale skin, and the plain background keeps the focus on the lettering.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Tomasz had been warned the thin air would make his chest feel like a fist, and for three days it had. At the Hollin Gap hut, the old warden, Ada Prentice, sat him on an upturned crate by the stove and tapped the table twice. "In," she said. "Out. You're counting like a clock that's lost its hands. Slow it."

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He breathed in while the kettle ticked. The words sat on the weather log she had pushed toward him, pencilled in a loose, looping hand across the top of the page: inhale. Beneath it, in the same slanting script: exhale. She had written them the winter her husband went under the cornice on the north face and did not come up. She never explained and he never asked.

Outside, the cloud lifted off the col like a sheet pulled from furniture, and the whole pass was suddenly there: grey scree, a line of snow poles marching toward a notch of blue sky, a ptarmigan running ahead of them on the path, unbothered. "Right," Ada said, standing. "We go up the gully on the long rope. Breathe where the rock breathes. Every time the wind drops, that's your moment to move."

He pulled his cap down, took the first lungful, and let it go slowly over the first step. The wind dropped. He moved.

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