Black and white photo of a fine line script lettering tattoo across the ribs, reading Let's unwrite these pages and replace them with our own words.

Script quote on the ribs

Fine line · Ribs · Black and grey · Photo

A black and white photograph of a fine line script quote across a person's ribs, reading Let's unwrite these pages, And replace them, With our own words. The lettering has thin, even linework with no shading, arranged in three staggered lines that follow a gentle diagonal. A striped top sits above the tattoo, and a hand wearing a ring and a bracelet rests at the lower edge of the frame.

Fine line Lettering Ribs Quote Script Lettering Text

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The hall of records at Carrow Deep had been built to outlast weather, so nobody expected the damp. By the third month of the flood season the ledgers in bay nine had begun to bloom grey at the corners, and Mireille Oduya spent her shifts with a soft brush and a pot of rice paste, lifting mould from pages nobody had read since the Tallow Accords.

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She found the note tucked between folios forty and forty-one, a single sheet folded into a square no bigger than a thumbnail. The hand was looped and impatient, the ink faded to the colour of weak tea. Someone had written two lines in the margin of a debt register, then crossed out the register's own heading and drawn an arrow pointing at nothing. Under the arrow, in smaller letters, was a sentence that made no sense for a ledger: let us unwrite these pages and replace them with our own words.

She took it to Tobiah Renn, who had run the bays for thirty years and trusted nothing he could not weigh. He held the sheet up to the lamp for a long time. Then he laughed, short and surprised, and said the handwriting belonged to his grandmother, who had been a clerk too, and who had once been caught rewriting a tithe roll so the poor came out owing less.

They never did find out what the new words were. Mireille kept the folded square in her breast pocket anyway, and on the last day of the flood she copied the sentence out in her own hand, slowly, the way you learn a new alphabet, and filed it at the front of bay nine where the next clerk would have to read it first.