Fine line tattoo of a thin black outlined circle with a short black stroke and a red diagonal stroke inside, on the inner wrist.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small circle tattoo on a wrist

Fine line · Other · Mixed · Photo

A small tattoo sits on the inner wrist, showing a thin black outlined circle with a short black vertical stroke and a red diagonal stroke inside it. The linework is clean and even with no shading, and the red accent is the only colour. The tattoo is centred on the wrist against a busy patterned fabric and a box with a pink and green flower design in the background.

Fine line Other Circle Line Abstract

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The clock in the packing shed had said quarter past eleven for years, though Dad insisted only the minute hand had given up. It was a plain white face inside a black iron ring, with a stubby hour hand, one thin black minute stroke, and a red line across the middle that somebody had once painted on as a second hand. In late August the wasps came to the windfalls and the shed smelt of crushed Bramley and diesel, and I would stand beneath it with a crate on my hip, waiting for the picking bell.

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Gran kept the orchard accounts in a green ledger. Every harvest she wrote the weight in pounds at the top of the page and the hour the last tractor left the lane at the bottom. The clock was her idea, she said, so the pickers would know when they had done a proper day. She set it herself the summer before the hospital and never touched it again. Nobody had the heart to wind it, and nobody liked to point out that it was right twice a day, which was more than most of us managed.

This year I found the ledger under a stack of seed sacks. In the final entry, dated the week she died, there was only one line: Fix the clock before the Cox pick, the girls will want to know the time. So I carried a stepladder down to the shed at dusk, lifted off the iron ring and blew the dust from the works. The mainspring was tired but not broken. When I turned the key it gave a dry tick, then another, then a steady beat that filled the empty shed.

I set the hands by the radio pips, and the red line swept round without hesitating. The pickers came up the lane at seven, and when the bell went the clock already read the right time. I still have the ledger. Under her last line I wrote the hour it started again, then went out into the rows with my crate and the steady tick behind me all the way to the first tree.