said the shepherd Boy to the mighty King
Over breakfast the other day, my father and I reminisced about a family dinner a couple years ago during which he had told us about the invention and played a clip (similar to the one above) that featured the sound. All the kids heard it right away. My mother, who is already hard of hearing, shook her head unsurprised: she heard nothing. My dad squinted his eyes and tried to tune in, to no avail.
The mosquito ringtone seems to me like a high-tech version of the bell from The Polar Express. As we shift from adolescence to adulthood, the peal weakens with each additional year, until one day we don't hear it at all.
Soon we are middle-aged and resentful of teenagers, who linger around like they have nothing better to do with their young healthy legs.
"Not on our watch," we spitefully say,
and turn up the volume, repelling the pubescent pests with a silent roar.
and turn up the volume, repelling the pubescent pests with a silent roar.
Then we watch the youths scatter away, pesky little reminders of our past-selves and the vitality that time continues to suck from our bodies.
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