[ WP ] In the future , technology has allowed us to have pillows that monitor our brain waves , and when people wake up they can plug them into their laptops and watch their dreams .

[ play this in loop ] ( https: //www.youtube.com/watch? v=WRFT_iWq5R0 ) 
 
 A slim figurine, twisting slowly on a polished marble base, played the tune he heard throughout his day. It danced, stunted, its turns interrupted, slightly, at the start, then more frequently, while the song played and played. Thought the figurine slowed, and eventually stopped, the song stayed on. The figurine went back to dancing, now. Faster, more graceful, it now waved its arms and moved its legs, the song coming to life on its movements. Then it left the marble base it was dancing upon, and jumped down to dance on the table. 
 
 As it danced, it came to life. The porcelain is was made from had been painted, in the past, but that paint had mostly faded away; now, it was coming back, a swirl of pink and salmon and white, coloring the little ballerina's clothing. Her skin, her white, bleached skin, turning pink and amber, as her cheeks grew color, and her lungs drew breath. Her eyes, her stone eyes, with the faded paint, now shone in the light of the dresser's lamp, a new expression on her face - happiness. 
 
 The little ballerina danced and danced, in ever-widening circles. When the song seemd to come to an end, she would slow down, but then the song began anew, and so did her dance. She seemed complete, happy, whole. She seemed at home. He watched her for hours, in the dream, and in real life, watched her until his eyes watered and his heart ached. 
 
 Then the light of the lamp grew stronger and stronger, and the little ballerina ran back to her marble stand. She jumped up on it, stayed in her position again, the colors slowly draining back inside the porcelain, her eyes again dying, her breath stopping, her clothes freezing in place. The song stopped, the light blinded him, and dawn came. Time to go to work. 
 
 He knew who the little ballerina was; it just would n't do any good to admit it. Saying it out loud would make it true, and making it true would be his ruin. *Let her dance, * he thought. *She is just a memory now. My sweet little girl... I wish I could've saved you. I wish I had the strength. Please, forgive me. * 
 
 This was his morning ritual, and nothing pointed to it changing, so there was no point in debating it, either. He took a deep breath, wiped the tears from his eyes, turned his wheelchair towards the door, and went to work. The day would be long and tiring, but his little girl would be waiting at home, and this time they'd make it to the concert in time. 
 
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 Hope you liked it! Tell me if the song kills it, I'm worried it'll hinder the story, somehow. Nice WP!: D
