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Bev Cobbett

It was a lazy, beautiful November afternoon. I had been watching a Cold Case show on tv when the sun’s brilliant rays suddenly began streaming in through the window. I could no longer see the screen. I was instantly annoyed. The blinding brilliance hurt my eyes, and shocked them with stabbing pain as I tried to duck my head around it. It was super agitating. I had to move my position on the couch.

How ironic. The case I was watching was about how people can go crazy from too much sun. How the brain can get fried from too much strain on the eye’s light receptors. Maybe that’s why I felt so agitated? Maybe it was happening to me? I thought of this as I switched ends on the couch.

I eyed the knife in my hands that I’d been using to cut off slices of apple for a snack while I watched. I noted my agitation was still present. I needed to be careful.

Suddenly, blinding reflected light flashed from the knife, piercing my eyes with renewed agony. I was incensed now, a hair away from becoming a wild, out-of-control animal, my brain screaming at the sun to get away from me! Strange, how fragile the human tolerance can sometimes be.

I remembered the ancient story—about how the Sun had proved to the Wind that it was the stronger of the two. How it had been the more powerful one and had made the man remove his coat.

Who would be the stronger one now?

The knife quivered in my hand; my agitation had become so great. I couldn’t think straight.

In one fluid motion I leaped from the couch, crossed to the window, and with a savage downward yank, I pulled the window blind down. The relief was instant.

(303 words)

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