Neo-traditional pocket watch tattoo with a pink bow on top and a pearl chain looping around it, shaded in grey with pink accents on a limb.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Pocket watch with pink bow and pearls

Neo-trad · Other · Mixed · Photo

A pocket watch with a pink bow at the top and a looped chain of pearls around the face sits at the centre of the design. The watch face has Arabic numerals and hands, and the case and pearls are shaded in grey and black with bold outlines and highlights. The bow is the only area in bright pink, with the rest of the design in greyscale, and the tattoo fills most of the frame against a blurred background.

Neo-trad Other Pocket watch Clock Bow Pearl Bead Chain

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The watch came up the pass in a tin box wrapped in oilcloth, and it had stopped at twenty to four. Nobody at Scarth Gap would claim it. The carrier who brought it said a woman had pressed it on him at the bottom of the road, a pink ribbon knotted round its bow, and told him only to keep the hands still until someone asked the time.

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I am the only clockmaker between the mill and the top of the moor, so the box came to my bench. The case was silver gone dull, the glass cracked across one corner, and a loop of pearls hung from the ring like a rosary someone had forgotten to finish. My mother had a string like that. She told me each bead was a day somebody had got through without complaint. I counted them that evening and there were ninety-one, which seemed a strange number to leave with a stranger.

Inside the lid, folded small, was a slip in pencil: Wind her at the cairn, not before. Three days later, when the snow had thinned, I climbed to the cairn with a lantern and the watch buttoned inside my coat. The wind came off the tops hard enough to tug the ribbon loose, and I caught it against my wrist. I turned the crown, and the hands jolted forward as if they had been waiting all along.

Coming down, I met a shepherd's boy with a collie at his heels, and he asked me the time. I took the watch out, its numerals black and bold in the grey light, and told him it was a quarter past four. He nodded, satisfied, and went on up the path. Nobody had asked me the time on that pass in thirty years of walking it, and I stood there a while longer with the ribbon in my fist, listening to the ticking.