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Toad

He was in the middle of the road. I couldn’t be sure if he was alive or dead. He wasn’t crushed but lay on his belly his legs splayed out behind him as he was going to spring up at any moment. He didn’t. One of his eyes was swollen and red. Perhaps it was a frog not a toad. I’m not sure that I know the difference. I don’t think I could’ve brought myself to pick him up. Maybe it was a toy. The half-light of early morning plays tricks on my eyes.

I want to help her but it is tricky, and I’m not sure that she wants it. He says leave her be. I just don’t know. I never have.

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.