The Eye Witnesses

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“Half the eyes accompanying the spotlight grew round…. One pair was a mix of both.”

It had been raining the day the sun went away. Just like that she went, as if she had no more business there. From one second to the next, the wetness turned to ice.

For decades it stayed that way. From time to time a flashlight poked up some dust. Once or twice there was another pair of eyes.

Then more came, and a spotlight was turned on. It was a strange scene. At one point, the spotlight cast a shadow where there was no obstacle in its line of sight.

Somewhere else, it made a rainbow in the exact spot you would’ve expected if, decades earlier, the rain hadn’t frozen to hail and crashed to the pavement.

Nothing quite added up. Nothing was as it seemed. Half the eyes accompanying the spotlight grew round. The other half squinted. One pair was a mix of both.

At last they went away, taking their spotlight and their cables. The shadow faded to an obstacle. The rainbow unfolded into sheets of rain.

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