Black and grey realism tattoo of a pocket watch, skulls and a rose on both forearms, shown in a mirrored pair.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Pocket watch, skulls and rose on both forearms

Realism · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Two mirrored forearms show a pocket watch with Roman numerals at the top, with skulls beneath it and a large rose at the wrist. The tattoo uses fine shading and smooth grey gradients to give the watch face, metal case and rose petals a realistic, three-dimensional look. The ink is black and grey throughout, and the photo is cropped to the forearms and hands against a plain background.

Realism Forearm Pocket watch Clock Roman numeral Skull Rose

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The lift in Carrick House had been dead since Tuesday, so I climbed the fourteen flights with Mr Dunmore's pocket watch in my coat and his skull-and-rose paperweight in a carrier bag, because he had asked for both back and I had promised. Every landing smelled of chip fat and Dettol. On the eleventh I stopped to get my breath and heard a fire door bang open above me.

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It was his daughter, Pat, in a quilted dressing gown, shouting that her father had been dead six days and she was not having his things carried up by a girl who couldn't even get a lift to work. I said I had only come to return the watch. She held out her hand without looking at me. "He stopped it at twenty to four," she said. "Mum always reckoned he'd done it on purpose, so he could leave on time."

I had wound it that morning in the stairwell, out of nerves, and it had ticked steady as a pulse all the way up. I told her so. Pat pressed the case to her ear and shut her eyes, and for a second she looked about nine. Then she gave it back, saying the hands had been wrong since the Coronation and it was the one thing of his she'd never been able to face fixing.

I took the stairs down with the watch knocking against my ribs and the paperweight bumping my knee, and somewhere around the sixth floor I realised I'd started counting the seconds without meaning to. By the ground floor I'd lost count, which seemed to be what Mr Dunmore had wanted all along.