Traditional style tattoo of a pocket watch with Roman numerals, framed by red roses, on a forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Pocket watch and roses on a forearm

Traditional · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

The tattoo shows an open pocket watch with Roman numerals and a light blue face, set on a gold-toned case with a fine chain hanging below. Two full red roses frame the watch, one at the top and one at the bottom, with dark outlines and shaded petals. The colour is bold and saturated against a dark background, and the design fills the frame from top to bottom.

Traditional Forearm Pocket watch Clock Rose Chain

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mrs Pruett had wound the hall clock every Sunday for thirty-one years, and the Sunday after the funeral it was the only thing in Marine Terrace that still kept proper time. Lodgers set their breakfasts by it. The coalman checked his pocket against it. So when the parlour clock began losing ten minutes a day, she sent a note up to the attic, where a retired watchmaker called Hollis rented the back room and mended everyone's broken things in exchange for a glass of sherry.

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He lifted the pendulum off its hook and laid it on a tea towel on the kitchen table. "Someone's been oiling this with bacon fat," he said. "Your husband?" "Dennis never oiled anything in his life," she said, and Hollis laughed, a short surprised sound she had not heard in that house since March.

On the fourth evening he came down the stairs with something cupped in his palm. It was a pocket watch, the gold case dulled at the hinge, its face a pale blue like the bay on a still morning, the Roman numerals inked black around the rim. A fine chain trailed from the bow and pooled across his fingers. "Found it stitched into the lining of the grey coat under the stairs. It's stopped at twenty past four."

She knew that hour. It was the time Dennis had promised to be back from the boat, the time she had stood at the bay window until the light went. Hollis set the watch in her hand and said nothing. She thumbed the crown, felt its small give, and turned the hands forward one slow notch at a time until the pale face agreed with the hall clock downstairs. Then she went down and wound them both.