Realistic black and grey pocket watch with Roman numerals, exposed gears, a chain and flowers tattooed on a forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Pocket watch and flowers on a forearm

Realism · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A forearm tattoo showing a pocket watch face with Roman numerals and visible gears, with a chain hanging from it and a pocket watch case at the upper left. Two flowers with pale centres sit beside the watch, and smooth shading gives the metal, chain and petals a three-dimensional look. The tattoo is mostly black and grey, with small gold touches on the watch rim and hands.

Realism Forearm Pocket watch Clock Roman numeral Gear Chain Flower

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Past the last stile, where the beeches gave way to bramble, old Tobias Fenn kept his bench under a tarpaulin and his tools in a cocoa tin. The village said he could mend anything with a wheel in it, and that he had never once charged a poor woman for it. So when Nell Garrow came running down the lane with her brother's watch in her fist, he did not ask where she had got it.

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The watch had belonged to her grandfather, a silver case worn smooth by the thumb of a man who had walked the parish boundary every Lady Day. Its chain had snapped on the stile. Its face had Roman numerals painted white as bone, a gold rim, and gears you could see through the glass, turning slow as sheep in a field. Tobias opened the back with a bent pin and frowned. "This was not stopped by a drop," he said. "Someone asked it to stop."

Nell's brother Ned had gone into the wood after the pale anemones that grew only where the path forgot itself. He had taken the watch to count the minutes, as boys do. Tobias wound it once, twice, and the minute hand jumped the way a startled hare does. "The wood keeps its own hours," he said. "Go and fetch him before the bell at St Edith's reaches twelve, or he will be counted among the old ones."

Nell ran. The brambles caught at her skirts, the chain swung from her wrist, and every flower she passed had its gold centre turned towards her like a clock face. She found Ned sitting under the beeches, very still, watching the second hand. She shook him. The watch ticked. Far off, the bell struck eleven, and the wood let them go, and the village had its boy back, exactly one minute older than he had been at breakfast.