Black and grey realism tattoo of a pocket watch with Roman numerals between two roses, on a forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Pocket watch and roses on a forearm

Realism · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A pocket watch with Roman numerals and hands sits at the centre of the design, with a large rose above it and a second rose below. The shading is soft and detailed, with fine highlights on the petals and watch casing. The tattoo is shown in black and grey ink, filling the length of the forearm against a dark background.

Realism Forearm Pocket watch Rose Clock Roman numeral Flower

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The watch came across the counter wrapped in a handkerchief that smelled of violets, and Mr Haldane wanted it valued before the shop shut at six. Ada turned the case over with her thumbnail, the way he had taught her, and felt the small silver lid give under her fingers. Inside, the Roman numerals stood in their ring like a row of tired soldiers, and the minute hand had stopped at twenty to four.

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Ada had seen a hundred watches come through the door. Most were cheap brass, sold by men who needed the price of a drink. This one was different. On the back someone had engraved two roses, their petals drawn so finely she could count the folds through the glass. Beneath them, in small capitals, was a name she did not know and a date in March 1889. Mr Haldane took off his spectacles and polished them on his waistcoat, which he only did when he was about to say something he did not want to say.

He offered four pounds. Ada said nothing for a long moment, then pushed the watch back across the wood. 'It's not for sale,' she said. 'It's for winding.' He laughed, but she had already taken the key from the drawer and was turning it, slowly, until the hands began their crawl forward. The ticking filled the back room like rain on a tin roof, and somewhere beyond the shelves the station clock struck four, a full minute late.

She left it ticking on the step of the Leeds Infirmary that evening, wrapped in a clean handkerchief, the roses facing up. A porter would find it at dawn and, she hoped, take it to a shop that would give him four pounds without asking whose it was.