This post was written for the following prompts:
Melody sighed; she’d been young once.
Then her tempo had been quick, like she was racing up a ladder to the next opportunity.
The drums had beat a tattoo in time with her footsteps, the strings had woven a revelry that made her heart sing. The whole orchestra had been at her beck and call.
Then she had grown old, her life becoming a stagnant pond, but even that taught her lessons. Life was now the recorder, simple but still sweet, or the triangle, a pure note within the mundane.
Unfortunately, they had decided she was to be modernised. The classic was too melancholy for their liking, but she wouldn’t go without a fight.
As they went to close the cupboard, Melody threw herself forward, and fell to the floor.
“Hey I know what that is, it’s a baton, they used them to conduct the orchestra.”
“Really, hey let’s take it out to the stage, it will be more fun than that stupid robot we have now.”