Jim sat in his favorite spot on the couch. This is where he spent most of his time. His office upstairs was only used during work hours and that time didn't count. He was grateful to live in a time where he could work from home, but those hours slogging away at his computer were a blight on his life. It only served to pay bills. His only solace was that it kept him away from dreaded people. Jim liked few things, truth be told — binge-watching TV among them. He was on the hunt for a new show to watch, which left the room in an eerie silence. He was wont to just pick something, anything, if that silence went on for too long. It was getting to that point when a soft sound pierced the silence. The TV's cycling through show previews stopped. Jim tilted his head, listening to the gentle sounds. The music that played was enthralling. It gripped his heart, pulling the threads that connected to his soul. He floated into a standing position, buoyed by the sound. Before he knew it, his hand was on the doorknob, the other on his coat. Slipping into the coat, he stepped into the winter darkness. The cold white light from the snow gave shape to the shadows. Frigid air snuck its way into the coat sending shivers along Jim's body. The smell of ice filled his nostrils. None of this registered. His heart surged ahead of him, pulling him along. The music thrummed along his veins. In the distance, light touched the clouded sky and painted blues and greens, pinks and yellows, in a synchronized dance. Though he had never seen anything in that field, Jim walked without hesitation. He could see no crowd nor hear anything but that sweet music. The lights captivated his eyes, and the music enraptured his soul. The closer he got, the lighter he felt. His worries and cares fell off him. Each one burned away before they hit the ground. He smiled. His muscles weren't accustomed to the expression, but it felt right. It belonged on his face. He walked on toward a cast iron gate. The lights originated behind this gate, he was sure of it. But he could see no equipment to cause them. A carousel was visible beyond the gate. Rust glistened on the poles holding the animals. Paint chips littered the base, along with many leaves. A giraffe's neck bent in the wrong direction. The derelict nature did not deter Jim. He walked on, only pausing at the gate to look around briefly. The compulsion to follow the music soon overrode his curiosity. Fog billowed along the ground. Jim stepped into it. A silhouette formed in the increasing fog. It was familiar to him, like breathing is familiar. He turned toward the carousel. The lights drew his attention to it once more. There was no rust. No bent giraffe's neck. No leaves. Only bright colors and the swirling fog. The carousel started to spin. The music's source was at once recognizable. Jim looked to his left as the silhouette formed into a young girl. She looked about twelve. The same age his daughter was when — "Hello, dad."