Forearm with a botanical bouquet of pink roses, red buds and dark green leaves in a painted style, placed on the inner wrist and forearm.

Pink rose bouquet temporary tattoo on a forearm

Botanical · Forearm · Colour · Photo

A pale forearm, with the hand raised above it, carries a painted floral design of pink roses, red buds and dark green leaves that runs from the wrist towards the elbow. Several cards printed with the same bouquet lie on the white surface beside the arm, and the flat, soft-toned colours suggest a temporary transfer rather than permanent ink. The composition is an overhead shot against a plain background with a light blue sleeve at the bottom of the frame.

Botanical Forearm Rose Flower Bouquet Leaves Bud Floral Temporary tattoo

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mrs Abernethy sold the transfers from a tin on the shelf behind the post office counter, between the stamps and the aspirin, and she never let a child take one home without a lecture. "Rub them on warm, not hot," she told Dora Lund that Saturday, pressing a card of pink roses into her palm. "Wet flannel after an hour. They'll go in a week, and that's the arrangement."

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Dora was nine and had already decided the roses would last for ever, the way her mother's roses on the cottage wall had outlasted three winters. She carried the card down the lane to the edge of Harrow Wood, where the beeches gave way to bramble, and sat on a stump to work it onto the inside of her wrist. The bouquet came away from its backing like a held breath: red buds, dark green leaves, and a pink rose opened so wide it looked surprised.

By August the petals had faded to the colour of weak tea. Dora scrubbed at them with soap in the stream and only made them paler. Her brother said she had been painted by a bored cook. She did not tell him about the three spare cards in a biscuit tin under her bed, one for each autumn she had not yet reached.

On the first frost she unlatched the tin and found the cards curled like dead leaves, but the roses still showed faintly on the paper, the way a room keeps the shape of a chair. She dampened one, pressed it to the window glass, and watched it cling for a moment before her breath loosened it and it drifted down to the sill.