People seem to do strange things in the dark, or is it just my heightened perception playing tricks on me. I was coming down North Road just past the eye clinic when I had a noise like a rustle of a plastic bag. I turned my head to see a lad by the two large recycling bins pull away from the wall and lean down to pick up a white plastic bag of SPAR groceries. He looked a little sheepish. What had he been doing? Y’alright? He called to me as I passed by.

I caught the moon, to the right of the sky, as I trundled down the hill to the side of Alexandra Hall. A half moon. An orange moon, though it was more like peach. A warm, almost saccharine-like hue. What make it so coloured? Is it the tides, is it reflecting back the colours of the earth?

The Prom was busy. Three girls in various states of undress – shoes off, no coats to be seen, mini-skirts hoiked up – ambled along. One sat down on one of the benches nursing her feet. The other two walked on ahead. Is it ringing yet? one of them screeched back to her friend. The seated one opened her bag and dug around inside it. It’s ringing, its ringing, she called out triumphantly.

The oystercatchers squeaked plaintively from the seashore.

My heart feels water-logged. It is drowning. My legs are heavy and rigid. Will it pass? Work then work. And the sky is clear.

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.