On a frozen beach at the beginning or end of time: distant murmurs of a carousel on the next pier. No children but ghost children sit on the painted ponies- mint green and rose- chipping and faded. No children but ghost children: motherless, sleepless, dreamless, endless haunts. Orphans. Exiles. Whispers and Fragments: Never Heard and Never Whole. Ghost children covered in ash, endlessly humming the only song they know: the mourning song of the carousel, the muffled screams in the cellar, the sizzling of hot metal on cool flesh. No children but ghost children, the distant murmurs of a carousel, and a frozen beach at the beginning or end of time. This was the dream.