(This was written for a 1-min story telling competition)
Once upon a time there was a song. She loved to flow, just like brooks and rivulets and impulsive poetry.
Birds trilled her, baritones embraced her.
She breezed through hills, she whistled through city lanes. At times she felt caged by her own network of notes. At times, she was the laughter of an alien tongue, a delightful surprise. At times her notes would stand parallel, in attention. At times, they'd rush and roll into a crescendo. At times she spoke nothing.
The last occasion she strummed a heart string, her last “sighting”, reported this time by a little leaf on a bountiful tree, was one melon-yellow sunset. She stepped lightly into a fallen ray. It was perfect.
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