JG: I'm Losing Things.

Today, I realized I had lost two stories I had written about a year ago.  Then, in a fit of awesome, I found one of them.  Here it is before I lose it again.

All in Jest

*inspired by Shel Silverstein

There once was a young boy who followed around the local jester wherever he would go.  The boy wanted nothing more than to be just like the jester.  He simply wanted to make people laugh and see the smiles upon their faces.  It was said that the young boy’s smile was the most beautiful thing in the entire kingdom, and he was the happiest little boy anyone had ever seen...  But wait, this isn’t the story of the boy.  This is the story of the jester.  Let’s start over then, shall we?

            And so, here it goes.  There once was a typical jester in a typical kingdom ruled by a typical king.  Every day there would be a grand luncheon and the jester would entertain the king and his distinguished guests.  The crowd would laugh and the jester would smile, and the jester would return with merriment to his comfortable quarters.  The boy was there too.  But one day the good jester lost his touch, and he simply could not hear the laughter anymore.

            The jester was the only person who could dare get away with making fun of the king, and on this day he decided to joke about just that.  The young boy watched as the jester cracked about everything from war to his treatment of others to how the king simply dressed.  On any other day, this speech would be a riot.  But today it seemed all too condescending, and the jester was met with silence.  The king stopped the show; kindly hinting it was not the jester’s best performance.  The king knew he’d see better tomorrow.  And off went the jester.

            The jester was upset yet confident he would come back strong the next day.  Tomorrow I’ll sing, the jester thought.  Everyone always got a kick out of the jester’s singing voice.  And so with the young boy following close behind, the jester went into his number.  But today the jester just could not seem to hit the right notes, and once again was met with silence.  The king was not at all pleased.  But he was a tolerant king, and did not want to lose his cool in front of his guests.  He did not raise his voice, and the king kindly asked the jester to do better the next day.  And off went the jester.

            On the third day, the young boy watched the jester pack everything from apples to bowling pins.  On this day, the jester would juggle.  Everyone always loved when the jester would perform his grand juggling act, especially the king.  But today the pins would not fall the right way, landing not in his hands but upon the floor, and for the third straight day the jester was met with silence.  At this point, the king was furious.  The once tolerant king could bare it no longer.  He stood up, rousing the crowd, and shouted: “IF THIS HAPPENS AGAIN TOMORROW, YOU’LL BE A PEASANT FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE!”  And off went the jester.

            That night the jester was so heartbroken that he could not even prepare an act for the next day.  The young boy followed the jester to the dining hall and watched as the jester looked blank and confused.  Finally, the jester somberly spoke.  He spoke of just how it felt to be an unfunny jester.  He spoke of sadness and rain.  He spoke of coldness and pain.  He spoke of anguish and hardship and devastation and woe.  He spoke of what its like to simply not know.  He spoke of being unsure of what’s funny and what’s right.  He spoke of being too ashamed to fall asleep at night.  And just when the jester thought he could say no more.  The guests laughed and laughed until it hurt their core.  They laughed until their sides ached and their bellies screamed.  They laughed harder and harder than they could ever have dreamed.  The king was delighted at the sight of the scene, laughing so hard it even hurt his spleen!  A tormented jester was truly the funniest thing he ever had seen. 

But all rhyming aside, the now-jovial king bid the jester adieu.  And off went the jester.

            Having caused quite the stir, the jester returned once again to his quaint quarters, followed only by the uproarious howling of the crowd and, of course, the young boy.  The jester had maintained his job, the people were happy, and the jester was the center of attention once again.

            Yet, this time the jester did not return with his usual merriment; he had not shared in the laughter.  For the jester was a man of his craft, you see; he took great pride in his work.  And as he fell down into his seat, so did his tears, silhouetted by a lone candle.  The jester cried all the night through, and the jester never quite found the same laughter again.

            It was said that the sight of a crying jester was the saddest thing the young boy had ever seen.  The young boy had lost all hope in the jester, and with it had lost all hope in his own self.  The boy did not cry, but to this day has never laughed again. 

And off went the jester.