The Boy with the Unicorn Horn
By T. E. Antonino
“Grandma, tell
me about the time when all the children had a unicorn horn like mine,”
Brusselpop said.
“So, my little Brusselpop, you want to hear
the story once again,” Grandma smiled. “Remember to listen closely this time,
and don’t forget a word of the story.”
The years
weighed heavy on the grandma, and the story she was about to tell held the
beauty of the ages.
The old grandma
straightened up in her rocking chair and began to speak. “There was a time when
all the children of the town painted pictures with watercolors and made all
kinds of everything with every color making invention you could think of. They
would dance and prance like no horse could ever do. It was pure delight in the children’s
eyes to pretend to be knights, princesses, scary dragons, and all manner of
fairytale fair. Children made music on their clang-bang-tooters and their drum-a-boomers.
Fairytales popped in and out of children’s imaginations like popcorn in a hot
kettle. It was a time when books flowed free. The townspeople watched the
children’s creative delights from morning till night, and happiness fell on the
people like leaves on a windy autumn day. The beauty of all this creating could
be felt even in the deeper part of one’s soul. But that all changed on the day
the hinge maker rolled into town. He talked about putting hinges on doors,
hinges on boxes, hinges on suitcases, hinges on cabinets, and hinges on
anything hinge-able. ‘Hinges are the future,’ he explained to the townspeople.”
“Grandma, is
this when the townspeople stopped buying dancing shoes, and paintbrushes, and
noise makers, and fairytale books, and acting costumes for the children?” Brusselpop’s
face grew long. “This is the sad part of the story, isn’t it Grandma? It’s when
the children’s unicorn horns all disappeared.”
“I’m afraid
so, Brusselpop,” the grandma said. “The hinge maker declared that any money
spent on creativity only creates foolishness and leaves your pockets penniless.
The townspeople listened to the hinge maker. They began to spend their time and
money only on making hinges both day and night. Soon the gates to creativity came
to a close. My little Brusselpop, all children are born with a unicorn horn so
that even the very old won’t forget the days of magic past. Remember,
Brusselpop, life is more than living.”
Those were the last words that Brusselpop would
hear from his grandma. For that very night, she took her place among the stars.
Brusselpop favored his unicorn horn and made certain it wouldn’t fade away. He
spoke in song, but rarely talked. Brusselpop danced through the years and grew
more creative all the time, but the boy’s creativity didn’t go unnoticed. The
pictures that he painted on sidewalks, barn buildings, and concrete walls inspired
the townspeople in ways they would never have thought possible. Many of the
townspeople agreed that the music Brusselpop
played on his pieced together string-ama-strummers took them to places far away
from the glut of hinge making they all knew so well, while others said that
Brusselpop’s street corner acting made them see things in a different light.
Like catching teardrops from the stars, Brusselpop subdued wonder and revealed it
to all those who could see beyond the hinge.
The hinge maker was furious over Brusselpop’s
uncommon behavior and called a town meeting. As the hinge maker stood behind
the podium, he lashed out at all the foolish Brusselpop talk.
“We can’t
let anything distract us from our hinge making, for it is our future,” the
hinge maker said. “This Brusselpop character is a distraction. He produces
nothing but fanciful dreams that end with an empty belly.”
Some of the townspeople agreed with the hinge
maker, but others disagreed with the hinge maker for the first time in a long
time. The hinge maker ranted and raved behind his podium as he spoke of the expendability
of creativity. Brusselpop, with his magnificent unicorn horn in full bloom, swung
open the doors to the town hall. Brusselpop marched right up to the hinge maker,
who was still standing behind his podium. The townspeople watched closely with
much wonder and curiosity over the unusual character that Brusselpop truly was
without a doubt.
Brusselpop looked the hinge maker in the eye
and said, “Life is more than living.”
Leaving the now speechless hinge maker,
Brusselpop walked back towards the doors.
“Where are you going?” the townspeople asked
Brusselpop.
“I’m off to embrace
the magic of the stars, to feel the Earth beneath my feet, to be carried away to
wherever the song leads me, to paint a picture of all that I will see, and to
live a story to be told. For life is more than living.” With those words,
Brusselpop left, and the townspeople thought, and they thought, and thought,
and thought…
Fund the arts and save the unicorns!
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