You Can’t Stop the Music

A Story for All Ages by Aaron McEmrys

Once upon a time and far away across the seas there was a Kingdom called Warble, which was named after it’s inhabitants, who were funny looking creatures that looked sort of like gnomes except they were covered from head to toe with soft feathers like baby ducks. Because of these feathers they were known far and wide as the Fuzzy Warbles.

They were the most musical of creatures. There was rarely a moment when they weren’t singing, and even in their sleep they hummed. They had beautiful, clear-throated voices that sounded like a blend of human voice, a birdsong and a clarinet.

The Fuzzy Warbles had never developed speech, so anything they had to say to one another they said through song: “Good morning!” “Take out the trash, please.” “Don’t miss your school bus, dear!” Their beautiful voices made even the simplest things hum with beauty.

After many years, the Old King passed away and a New King ascended the throne for the first time.

The New King was unusual for a Fuzzy Warble in that he did not have a beautiful singing voice. Try as he might, his voice sounded like a cross between a duck and a frog, and he always felt ashamed although he never admitted it.

So the very first thing he did when he became King was to issue the Decree of Silence, making it a crime for any Warble to sing. From that moment on they were to communicate only by using post-it-notes, which they would scribble on like this.

But singing was so deeply built into the Fuzzy Warbles that they could not stop singing no matter how hard they tried and the jails started to overflow with sad Warbles who had broken the “no singing” laws.

Finally, the New King paid a terrible sorcerer from the far side of the mountains to come and silence the Warbles once and for all. The sorcerer stood on top of the highest tower and cast a terrible spell that pulled all the Warble’s voices right out of their bodies. The captured voices looked like pale golden mist, which was slowly pulled out of them, across the city and into a big clay jar, which the sorcerer then corked up.

The Fuzzy Warbles looked at one another desperately and tried to sing, but no sound came out. The whole city was buried in silence. After that, the only sounds were the sounds of working. Life in the city had become plain and hollow and sad, and the whole world seemed covered in sticky notes.

But one day a little Warble names Curtis was washing up the dishes from lunch. Without even realizing what he was doing, he began tapping a spoon against a pot, tap, ping, tap, ping. Suddenly doing the dishes seemed a lot more fun and before he knew it he was plinking the glasses, making swishing sounds with the water and using the soupspoons like drumsticks on the sink.

All across the city, Fuzzy Warbles stopped what they were doing and listened. They listened, and then they began tapping their feet. They listened, they began tapping their feet and then they started tapping, swishing, shaking and blowing whatever was around them! Soon the city was a symphony of blowing reeds, blacksmith rhythms, tinkling glass, zipping washboards and stomping feet. In a matter of minutes every Warble in the land was dancing.

Except for one. The New King, alone in his high palace, heard the unmistakable sounds of music and threw open his windows in a rage, ready to arrest the whole town if necessary – but he couldn’t see anything unusual. Nobody was singing. All he could see were Warbles going about their usual business – plowing, blacksmithing, cooking, fetching water, washing dishes and clothes…nothing unusual at all – except that they all seemed to be having a lot more fun than usual.

The New King stood there suspiciously on his on his balcony for a long time - and as he stood there a funny thing began to happen. One of his fingers began, quite unconsciously, tapping on the balcony rail. Then one of his feet started tapping, all on it’s own. A few seconds later the New King was surprised to find his head bobbing – and that was just the beginning. It was as if his body had been taken over by the spirit of music and soon, he found himself banging a powerful rythym on an old suit of armor and moonwalking across his balcony like Michael Jackson.

The New King had the gift of rhythm and soon the walls of the great city were literally shaking with the music of life, and the New King was smiling like a child and crying with joy.

Tears streaming down his face, the King picked up the clay jay where all the Warble’s voices were stored. He lifted it high above his head and then threw it down from the balcony where it shattered with a crash.

A shimmering golden cloud rose up above the dust, and as the Fuzzy Warbles breathed in, every voice found its way home. Some of the warbles started singing right then, while others kept right on blowing into their reed flutes or clinking their spoons. The New King just kept drumming against that old suit of armor and a more beautiful thing could scarcely be imagined.

Many years have passed since then.

The Fuzzy Warbles still sing, of course, but they also play all the other kinds of music they discovered during the Great Silence. The King is the best drummer in all the land, and it has been a dog’s age since even a single post-it-note was seen in the Kingdom of the Fuzzy Warbles.