The Little Battered Music Box

The Little Battered Music Box

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Illuminated by the moonlight was an open, battered music box, and standing in the middle, was a small, broken ballerina with its back to her, its arms outstretched. Its body was battered and its flimsy little dress ripped. And to go with the little broken doll was the little broken tune. It played slowly, and halfway through, something stuck, and then, the little music box whirred and it started again.
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The bass thrummed through my body, a deep, pulsing rhythm that I could feel in my bones. Lights slashed through the darkness, cutting neon streaks of blue and red across the crowd. The air was thick, heat, sweat, alcohol, and something sharper, something electric. I was lost in the music, in the motion, my long legs moving in sync with the pounding beat. My black skirt clung to my body, my red Italian heels making every step a statement.

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