Black lettering tattoo in script reading God Is A Awesome God, curved across the upper chest below the collarbones, shown in two stacked photos.

Script phrase across the upper chest

Lettering · Chest · Black and grey · Photo

The image shows two stacked photographs of the upper chest and neck area, with fingers holding the skin at the edges. A cursive script phrase reading God Is A Awesome God curves across the chest, with a small added mark beneath the A in the lower photo. The tattoo is rendered in black ink with clean, bold linework and soft grey shading, against plain skin and a light background.

Lettering Chest Script Phrase Text

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

You are nineteen the summer old Emrys Pryce lets you paint the chapel board, because his hands have started to shake before noon and the colliery has posted another notice on the institute door. He stands at your shoulder with a flask of stewed tea, watching you chalk the letters onto the black lacquer. The line is five words the minister wrote out for you in pencil on the back of a pay slip, and Pryce has made you copy it three times on old newspaper before he trusts you near the board.

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You work through the morning with the fine sable brush, the long loops of the capitals giving you more trouble than the shading. The sun comes in sideways through the vestry window and turns the wet paint the colour of treacle. By dinnertime the line is done and you step back to admire it, and only then does your eye catch the extra article sitting in the middle like a stone in a boot. Your hand has put the A in twice, and the second one has settled in front of Awesome.

The paint is still tacky. You could lift it with a damp rag and nobody in Cwmllan would ever know, but you think of Pryce's ledgers, every error in them struck through with one neat line and a small raised mark beneath, so the eye knows it was seen and the sum stays honest. You dip the finest brush, make a little caret under the A, and blow on it gently until it dries.

Pryce comes back with the tea, reads the board upside down, and says nothing for so long that you start to apologise. Then he laughs, a wheeze that turns into a cough, and claps you on the back hard enough to rattle your teeth. On Sunday the board goes up above the chapel door, and the congregation reads it on their way in, the small mark sitting beneath the A like a foot on a step.