Two photos of a fine line black script tattoo reading to infinity and beyond with three bird silhouettes in flight, placed on the upper chest near the collarbone.

"To infinity and beyond" script with three birds on chest

Fine line · Chest · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo is a fine script reading "to infinity..." in the top photo and "and beyond..." in the bottom photo, with three small bird silhouettes in flight trailing from the lettering. The linework is thin and even, and the ink is solid black with light shading. The two photos are shown as a stacked pair, with the tattoo placed across the upper chest near the collarbone.

Fine line Lettering Chest Script Quote Infinity Bird Lettering

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The chairoplane has lost another bolt, so you are flat on your back in the mud beneath its gondolas, a spanner balanced on your chest, listening to Dad swear at the generator two fields away. Pickering's Fair packs up on Sunday. Nobody says it aloud, but the wagons already have their sheets on and the lads are counting rivets like change.

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Marguerite brings you tea in a chipped mug and a sausage roll gone cold from the hatch. She has worked the candyfloss stall since before you were born, and she keeps the season in her head like a ledger. The starlings roost in the Big Wheel's struts every October, she tells you, and when the lamps go off they lift all at once, bending and folding over the dodgems like a sheet shaken out. "They never leave the field," she says. "They just go round until they find the spot they like."

You climb the chairoplane's central pole with the bolt between your teeth. From up there you can see the whole site: the caravans in a crooked row, the ticket booth with its paint half gone, and the words you helped letter on its side when you were eleven, white capitals on blue, with the rest of the sentence painted round the back where only people who walk the full circuit will see it. Your sister always said the fair was a promise you had to walk around to finish.

The starlings rise. You hold the bolt in your fist and watch them stretch over the stubble towards the dark line of the hedge, thinning to three, then to one, until there is nothing but the shape of where they were. When you climb down the bolt is in place, Dad has stopped swearing, and somewhere behind the booth your sister is laughing at something you cannot hear.