It is midnight. A wind chime billows softly to the breeze's direction. Swaying are nine stars of mix sizes attached to those beady strands, spiraling them down in descending order.
The stars glow with metallic luster in the midst of calmness. They swing calmly as the night cradle them in a whistle of lullaby. Back and forth, like in a rocking crib, all of them are constantly invited to sleep.
Except one. Down below, just a little off center, Twinkle is a unique impression. Twinkle is not a star at all. Too flat, too round, and too wooden to be among them. Too tiny and knows only to be obedient. Too unstable to be never steady.
Although the evening bear all the serenity and drowsiness, Twinkle stirs wide with spirit.
To and fro, they keep on. A soft percussion comes with their movement, still more enchantment for them. But not for long.
Twinkle waits a bit for the moment. It is coming. The wind is hinting.
Twinkle anticipates, string flutters with excitement.
The gale, here comes, blows with all its might. One moment, the chime spiral off with its dominance.Twinkle thrust forward. As if in conspiracy with the strong wind, Twinkle bangs them wide awake, disturbing their passing unawareness and sends the stars now in an unpredictable wave of motion.
Twinkle sway in joy of the tease. How Twinkle loves being able to move freely with the wind, as far as the strings can reach; while a loud metal clanking becomes music above.
Twinkle twinkles like a star.
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