Black and grey realism tattoo of a horned owl gripping a pocket watch on the upper arm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Owl gripping a pocket watch on an arm

Realism · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A detailed owl with ear tufts and a fierce stare is shown in profile, its talons gripping an open pocket watch with Roman numerals. The feathers are built up with fine layered shading, and the watch face has crisp, defined numerals and hands. The tattoo is shown in black and grey against a soft, blurred patterned background.

Realism Upper arm Owl Pocket watch Clock Talon Feather

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Tuesday, twenty past three. Halloran's silver watch has gone from the bench where he left it beside his cold tea. I found it by lantern light on the top shelf above the flour bins, the owl perched over it with its talons wrapped round the chain. Its eyes were two lamps turned low, and it didn't stir when I reached for the case. It only drew the watch closer under one wing and stared at me as if I were the one who'd been caught.

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Halloran woke the galley at six and called me a thief before I'd lit the range. I told him the owl was the thief. He laughed, then stopped laughing, because the case was open and the owl had its head cocked over the dial as though it could read the Roman numerals. Twelve and nine were scratched fine and deep, the way his father had engraved them in Liverpool before the old man went to sea and never came back to the shop.

Nobody aboard has ever seen the owl eat. It comes down from the rigging on the dog watch, sits on the shelf, and waits for the bell. I've started to think it counts the bells the way Halloran counts the tides. This morning, when I finally coaxed the watch free with a heel of bread, the hands stood at ten past six and the owl's gaze had gone to the cold stove, as if it knew the range wanted lighting.

I wound the watch, set it against the wheelhouse clock, and put it back on the bench. Halloran didn't thank me. He sat with his tea, held the case to his ear, and the owl, feathers puffed against the draught from the hatch, closed its eyes for the first time since Grimsby.