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Badger

It was one of those journeying dreams, you know the kind, or perhaps you don’t, the ones where there is a path and its long and winding and takes you through a variety of different terrain. This path lead me to a flooded road which meant I had to climb up a bank into a woody area (my cousin had said that he would meet me at the end of my journey in his car – how will he find me? I thought as I headed inland off the road). It became dark and I saw a huge hole in the ground, too big for a warren, was it a badger’s holt? I thought I could see an animal crouching in the gloom at the mouth of the hole. I was scared. It looked like the skeleton of a badger (not unlike that skull I’d seen on the Prom a few weeks ago) but it was hairless. I grew more scared. Would it attack me? But then suddenly, as it is in dreams I was out in the sunlight again and in a green, open meadow, all threat dissipated, for now. As I lay in semi-sleep another one of those sentences came forward. Last week one of them had been: ‘Welcome Mr Frankenstein and his monster.’ And another voice had replied: ‘Thank you.’ This morning the voice had said: ‘I want to try and find this hope.’

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.