Black object

Night of Good Friday/Saturday morning. An object, rectangular and about the size of a large ashtray, black, with structure. I hold it in my hand but I can’t quite make it out. A louder and louder wind blows through the sections of the object, as they sort of begin to blow away. The noise is deafening. I am not afraid of it, determined to observe it, with a bit of a smile. I tell …. in the next room, that I know what this is, it’s evil, and I’m going to tell it, against the ever more deafening noise, “You can go right back to Hell.” My voice comes through with difficulty. 

Author: Stephen Moran

I was born in Dublin and made my way to London on a bike in my mid-twenties. It’s where I can still be found though ever further out, most recently as far as Harrow. I no longer own a bicycle.