Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: New (01/01/26)
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TITLE: Fresh Eyes | Previous Challenge Entry
By Jack Taylor
01/08/26 -
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The aroma of baking bread meant morning and the new rays of the sun to brush off the chill of night. The tang of olives meant noon and the hopes of an extra portion from a compassionate traveler passing by. The smoke of hearth fires drifting through the streets meant evening and the need to find shelter away from the night air and the abusive drunkards who had no pity on ones like him.
The upcoming Passover meant more generosity, and on this morning, he leaned back against the stone wall, soaking in the new warmth of a rising sun. His bowl rested between his knees. The shuffling sandals spoke of more feet, more murmurs, and more tension as people jostled for space. Something was happening. He could sense it in the same way he sensed the storms before the breezes blew by.
Sandals stilled. He tilted his head, listening for coin.
“Rabbi,” someone said, “who sinned- this man or his parents- that he was born blind?”
It was like being struck with a stone. The thought wasn’t new. The application to his parents was. He stiffened, waiting for the ache leeching life from his soul. What was he, an object? Not only blind, but deaf?
A shadow blocked the sun as a new voice answered-calm, steady, close. A voice with warmth penetrated the shadows in which he lived.
“Neither, the voice answered. “This happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him.”
What new teaching was this? God’s works displayed? In him?
The sound of spit hit the ground, then fingers moving in dirt, slow, deliberate, purposeful. A presence, earthy, scented, fishy. Hands touched his face. He flinched at the newness. No one had touched his eyes. Ever.
Gentle hands pressed mud carefully against his lids, thick, gritty. “Go,” the voice urged. “Wash in the Pool of Siloam.” The hands withdrew while the warmth tingled, lingering in place.
He rose slowly, heart pounding like a drum. Mud dribbled down his cheek, drying, hardening, under the sun. People whispered as he passed. He covered his eyes and pushed forward, every step memorized from countless years of stumbling and fumbling along these cobblestones. He knew the steps, the echoes, the slope of the stones. Finally, the stairs, and then the water.
Kneeling and trembling, he scooped the liquid with both hands and washed his face. Mud dissolved. And then-Light. Brightness. Harsh. Sudden. Overwhelming. Painful. Blinding.
Gasping, he jerked back. Shapes burst into being. Color. Motion. Like a trumpet blare in your ear without warning. New awareness rushed into his soul. Burning white above. A vast expanse – blue. Water shimmering with reflections among ripples.
He squeezed his eyes shut, sobbing. When he opened them again, the world was still there. Real. Rushing to fill senses he hardly knew. His own hands, creased, calloused, shaking, water still dripping toward his knees. Faces, staring. Mouths open, eyes wide. “I can see,” he whispered, afraid of breaking the reality. “I can see.”
Walking back through the city was like learning to breathe all over again. Every step overwhelmed him with vision he had never imagined before. Children darted past with noise and color. Stone walls rose higher than he had dreamed. Faces, every one different, each one alive with expression, feeling, life.
Voices cascaded into a kaleidoscope of volumes. “Isn’t that the man who used to sit and beg?” “No, it only looks like him.” “Wasn’t he the blind one?” “Can he really see?”
He laughed. New, rich, joyful. “I am the man,” he announced, looking into the face of his doubters.”
Others questioned him, taking him to places he had never been permitted to visit before. Certainty was demanded, explanations required, truth drawn from him. One thing anchored him.
“I was blind,” he said, his voice steady. “Now I see.”
They kicked him out, back on the streets.
Light faded slowly, and the familiar cool of evening brought relief. The shadows returned, soft and harmless. The flicker of lamps in windows drew his attention. He knew something deeper than sight. A new world, a new life, a new hope.
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Such a beautifully written piece. I liked how you incorporated all the five senses into the story.
Well deserved 1st place in EC.
You have the gift of storytelling!