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The trek to the playground is smooth and straight, with a well-paved path taking you most of the way. As you approach the actual playground which has a large wrought iron sign hung a dozen feet above the ground in a cartoonish font, you notice numerous footsteps and piles of dirt have hidden the trail, as if a mass exodus marked the impact of a hundred running feet. You walk into the playground and see an overturned slide, its blue and white striped ladder broken in half. A jungle gym has a solitary green balloon still tied to a rung. A tiny pink sneaker, a yellow hair ribbon, a box of crayons: all lie scattered about as remnants of children who played here not long ago.

You hear a song whispered across the wind:

Frere Jacques, Frere Jacques,

Dormez vous? Dormez vous?

Sonnez les matines, Sonnez les matines

Ding Ding Dong, Ding Ding Dong

You walk toward the sound of the music. Sitting at the edge of a sandbox is a young girl in a yellow and white polka dot dress. Her back is to you, but you hear the sweet song emanating from her.