tweedle
[tweed-l]
1. to produce high-pitched, modulated sounds, as a singer, bird, or musical instrument.
2. to perform lightly upon a musical instrument.
3. to lure by or as by music:
The Pied Piper tweedled the children into following him.
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The
sound was faint. So faint, in fact, that
he could barely hear it. But it was
there, just audible over the sounds of the city. It was sweat and melodic, and it was clearly
telling a story. He just couldn’t tell
what the story was, since it lacked words.
Nobody
else seemed to hear it though. The
streets were crowded with people, and not one of them reacted to the music. He wasn’t sure if it was because they were
all too distracted to hear it. Everyone
was paying attention to a phone, or music player, or watch, or something similar. He wanted to rip all the distractions
away. He wanted to shout for everyone to
be quiet for a moment. He didn’t. he knew it would just get him strange looks
from anyone who heard him.
Instead,
he just started walking. He had to find
the source of the music. He could tell
the rough direction, and he headed towards it.
The music never seemed to get any louder, no matter how far he walked. But it never got any fainter either. It was always there, just at the edge of his
hearing.
The
sound brought him to a park. Of course
it did. Such a beautiful sound could
never come from one of the cold, sterile buildings. No, the park was the only real source. And yet, even there, the people seemed
oblivious to the enchanting melody.
He
ignored the masses and headed off to find the source. The people grew thinner. Less numerous. It was like they were avoiding the source of
the music. That didn’t make any
sense. Why would someone want to avoid
such a beautiful sound? They should be
flocking to it.
After
an agonizing few minutes of searching, he finally found it. The source of the music. A woman…no, not a woman, an angel. The diving visage sat on a stone, dressing in
a flowing white robe. Her hair shone in
the daylight, and her lips were parted, producing the music, along with a small
golden harp on her lap.
Her
body glowed with divine radiance, and two soft, golden wings protruded from her
back. That was how he knew she was an
angel, and not a woman. How could she be
anything else? He marveled at the beauty
of her visage and her music. Truly, only
an angel could produce such a sound.
He took
a step towards her, and his foot cracked on a stick. Her brilliant blue eyes shot open and she
stopped the music. He stopped walking,
with his foot still on the offending piece of wood. They looked at each other for a moment. That brief period seemed to last an eternity
in his mind.
She
smiled. A delicate thing that pierced
his heart like a spear. She held out one
divine hand to him. His feet were very
nearly floating as he went to take the offered hand. Her skin was soft and warm. She smelled like honey and flowers.
She
stood and smiled. Her teeth were
odd. Not like an angel’s should be, but
he put it out of his mind. He had never
seen an angel before, so he didn’t know what their teeth would look like.
She
moved closer to him and started singing.
He voice was louder than it had been.
But that was to be expected, since she was so close to him. A sense of peace and happiness came over him
as he listened to her wordless song. He
felt himself growing tired and heavy.
His legs no longer wanted to support his weight, so he sat. Then his head no longer wanted to stay up, so
he lay down.
As his
eyes no longer wanted to remain opened, he looked up at her. Her divine glow was starting to fade, and his
eyes focused on the rows of sharp, pointed teeth in her mouth.
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If someone has pointed teeth like that, you probably shouldn't stick around. It's not a good sign. Even with animals, it's not usually good to stay around things with sharp teeth. Cats and dogs are one thing, but even they can turn unpleasant if they get into a biting mood. So yeah, harp teeth=bad more often than not.
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