Black ink tattoo of a profile head wearing a bowler hat, with a cog over the eye, on the forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Bowler hat head with cog eye on forearm

Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A solid black tattoo shows a side-profile head in a bowler hat, with the hat filled in and the face drawn as a simple outline. A cog or gear sits where the eye would be, drawn with a solid ring and a dotted centre. The image is a close, straight-on photo of the arm against a dark, cluttered background, with only black ink visible.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

You find the gate of Hollin's orchard hanging by one hinge, and the bowler-hatted scarecrow your uncle built in the spring is leaning on it with its black face turned towards the lane. Late August, the wasps are drunk on windfalls, and the Bramleys have split their skins in the heat. Nobody has pruned since Tuesday. You were sent for a ladder and have come back with a bucket.

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The scarecrow has a cog for an eye. Your uncle, who could not mend a kettle, swore a clockmaker in Ledbury owed him a favour and paid in gears, though you suspect the cog came off the cider press. When you tug the brim, the wheel turns with a sound like a cough, and every tree along the north wall shivers at once. Apples drop in a neat line, each one landing in the grass with a small thud, as though someone had counted them out.

You stand there with the bucket until the last one falls. Then you pick them up, one by one, and notice none are bruised. Your uncle's voice comes from the hedge, asking whether you found the ladder. You say no, that the trees have started doing it themselves, and he laughs, because he has always believed a thing only once it has already happened.

That night you wind the wheel back with a spanner, slowly, the way he showed you, and the orchard settles into the dark. In the morning the scarecrow is facing the lane again, and the grass beneath the north wall is pricked with apples, every one of them whole.

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