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Fall (5)

I’d weighed up what path to take. I am always wary of it. Alert to it, even. I watch the path, straighten my back and stride purposely. It must’ve been a loose slab, something uneven. It caught my foot and I went flying then falling, hard. I am battered. My body is sore. But nothing is broken, I think. Will this demand the rest that I cannot seem to allow myself?

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.