Deep in the night under patches of fluorescent blue flowers,there lays a rusted bird. Her joints are unable to move because of the rain. Her voice, once able to respond to her owner's, is broken. Due to the little hands and feet that play on the yellow apparatus. The owner of this promising but mistake ridden invention was very gifted. He lacked hope and confidence. She was to be grand. The next big thing. She was supposed to sing you to sleep. The boy gave up. He lost his vision.
One day as yet again, more feet trample by. One of those pairs of feet stop. A little girl with red pigtails and a button nose picks up the rusted bird and takes it to her father. With a shocked expression on his face he whispers one word "Dreamingale?"