Black fine line script reading breathe in, breathe out, move on on the inner wrist, set against a hessian background.

Script quote on the inner wrist

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A close photograph of a black script quote on the inner wrist, reading breathe in, breathe out, move on across three lines. The linework is thin and even with solid black ink and no shading. The text is centred on the wrist against a textured brown hessian background, and the healed skin looks clear.

Lettering Fine line Forearm Script Quote Text Lettering

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dora Halloran had given up trying to teach him the changes, so on the third Sunday in November she sat on the cold stone step of the ringing chamber and watched Ewan haul on the treble rope until his knuckles went white. The bells above them hung silent, the tenor a black iron mouth in the dark. "You're fighting it," she said. "The rope isn't your enemy."

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He wanted to argue. He had climbed four hundred stairs in the rain to prove he could do this, and his arms ached in ways he had no names for. Dora got up, slow with her bad hip, and lifted the sally from his fist with two fingers, the way you might lift a moth off a windowsill.

"Breathe in as it rises," she said. "Breathe out as it falls. Then you move on to the next pull and don't look back at the last one. The bell doesn't remember the stroke before."

He tried it. The rope climbed through his palms, lifted him onto his toes, and at the top of its arc he breathed in and the bell swung over and spoke, a deep round note that rolled down through the stone and settled in his chest. When he came down at dusk, Dora was already at the door with a stub of chalk, writing the words on the slate by the bottom step where every ringer would see them. Underneath she drew a small bell, badly, and left the rest to him.