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Into the Mirror Black

The early morning weather was more clement than I’d anticipated, or that the BBC forecast had foretold. I walked. I walked on the Prom and down by the harbour and on the Perygyl. The rain held off mostly, just spits of it. And the wind though gusty along North Road was manageable. I was pleased. I like to stretch my legs and move. I need it. A few clusters of students hung about in doorways. No Halloween festivities for them at the Pier or SY23. Bless them. Not much of a student life these days. I saw a few pumpkin faces on doorsteps and in windows. Are they to ward off evil spirits? A piece of pumpkin lay smashed in the middle of the road opposite Mill Street petrol station.

Earlier in the day yesterday I happened to look out of our upstairs window and saw the little Eastern European girl (are they Polish?), the one who is looked after by her father while her mother works. She and her father were just coming round the corner into the Quad and she was dressed up in an all in one black bodysuit with a white skeleton embossed on it. She had clearly forgotten all about her unusual attire (the way only children can do) and was running about as usual, wrapping him around her little finger, no doubt. He is sanguine about it all. Hello, he always calls after us, bending his head down to her to encourage her to do the same, she never does.

A lad was perched on the railing of North Prom as a I walked by. He was sitting inside it, facing the sea in just a tee shirt and shorts. He looked sad. On the back of his tee shirt the slogan read: Into the Mirror Black.

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.