Small tattoo of two fish on the upper chest near the collarbone, one in black and grey and one in red, curving towards each other.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Two fish tattoo on the upper chest

Chest · Mixed · Photo

The tattoo shows two fish in a loose, curved arrangement, one rendered in black and grey and the other in red. The forms have soft, blended edges with shading that fades toward the tails, rather than crisp outlines. The small design sits on pale skin against a plain background, with the composition centred on the upper chest near the collarbone.

Chest Fish Koi

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The black fish came up the culvert the night the lights failed on the fourth floor of Saint Ebba's, and the red one came after him, because that was how it had always been between them. The old porter said they had swum the same bend of the Lune since before the hospital was built, one dark as wet slate and one red as a pillar box, circling each other under the bridge and never quite touching.

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Nurse Hilda Frew had worked nights for nineteen years and did not believe in fish. She believed in the sluice, the pump and the bell that rang on the ward when a heart stopped. That night the bell rang twice and the lift would not come, so she took the back stairs down to the boiler room, where the floor was swilled with water and the two fish lay in it, turning slow circles around a cracked pipe.

The black fish pressed its nose against the split joint and held it there. The red fish went round and round, fetching a loose brass washer from the far corner of the room and dropping it at the black one's feet. Between them they kept the leak shut long enough for the pump to catch. Hilda pushed her cardigan sleeves up and put both hands in the water, and felt the cold climb to her elbows.

When the power came back at six the boiler room was dry. There were two wet curves on the tiles, one bent toward the other, and beside them lay a single brass washer that nobody on the maintenance rota had ordered. Hilda kept it in her apron pocket for the rest of her career. When the day staff asked why she always took the back stairs, she said only that she was going to see her fish.