Realistic black and grey forearm tattoo of a pocket watch, crescent moon and candle, with red lips as the only colour, sitting on the inner forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Pocket watch, moon and red lips on a forearm

Realism · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A forearm tattoo showing a pocket watch with a visible dial at the centre, a crescent moon above it and a candle or cylindrical object on the left. Red lips sit in the middle, and an ornate scrollwork element and a dark circular emblem fill the lower section. The shading is smooth and grey with strong highlights, and the dark background blends into the lower part of the design.

Realism Forearm Pocket watch Crescent moon Lip Candle Clock Ornament Emblem

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Walter, the clock in the Corn Exchange has stopped again, and Mr Pryce says it will stand there until someone pays for a new escapement. I have taken on the Sunday winding since nobody else in Hadley Cross will climb that ladder. The town is very quiet this winter. You would hate it, and I find I don't mind.

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Last Thursday the moon came up over the gasworks no thicker than a fingernail paring, and I sat on the shop stairs with the candle guttering in its tin sconce, counting the brass teeth of a wheel no bigger than a shilling. Mrs Aske brought in her late husband's pocket watch and asked me to set it by the moon rather than the wireless, because the wireless, she said, had never once told her the truth. I told her the moon keeps poor time. She laughed at that.

She had painted her mouth for the visit, bright as a pillar box, and the color stayed on the rim of her teacup long after she had gone. She left the watch on the bench and said I was to keep it running until he was home from the coast. I did not ask which coast, or which he. I only nodded, the way you nod to customers who are sure of something you are not.

I set its hands to a quarter past eleven, the hour she said he always came up the High Street, and wound it tight. It has kept perfect time since. Nobody has come to collect it, and each morning I wind it anyway, in case the street is quiet enough to hear a step.

Your brother, Tom