The Boy Who Wanted to be Heard. (A Fable)

Once upon a time, in the small village of Mathitoo, there lived a boy who wanted to be heard. He loved the sound of his own voice and would use it as loudly as he could. He walked the dirt paths of the village having starnge conversations with himself as loud as his small voice could go hoping someone would hear.

This angered the elders of the village, who preferred their quiet life of the mundane and silent. The boy bothered them out of their afternoon naps and their quiet sits on deep long lounge chairs. Even the eldest of the elders manged to move himself out of his special spot to call to the boy with anger.

“Boy! Stop your yelling and screaming. " The oldest of the elders called. “Some of us are trying to rest our weary bones.”

“Yes sir,” the boy yelled back before quieting down to a whisper.

The next day the elders were grouped in a lounge chair circle, talking quietly of the week and it’s lack of excitement. this seemed to be rather exciting to each of the grey haired wise men, one actually raised his arm to make a point.

From down one of the dirt walkways came a loud banging. It was as if thunder had fallen from the sky. The elders craned their necks to see this calamity of noisey rackett. As they waited and the noise grew each elder began to wander in their imaginations.

“It’s an elephant with allergies!” Cried one.

“No, it’s a thunder horse!” Cried another.

“No, I think it’s a Bellgon-dee-dong-dee-whamie!” Cried another.

They all looked at the one that uttered such nonsense and almost giggled at the ridiculous statement as the boy became visible down the lane. He banged an empty pot with a large hammer.

“Boy!” Said the oldest of them. “I thought i told you to stop?”

“I did stop. I am not yelling am I?”

The eldest thought about it for a moment and had to agree with the boy. He wasn’t yelling, but this noise was louder than the yell.

“Stop your banging boy.” The eldest said to the lad.

A few days later the elders were sitting in their lounging circle again. They talked about nothing and seemed destined for afternoon naps.

One of them blurted out, “Hope there isn’t a Bellgon-dee-dong-dee-whamie coming today.”

They all made strange noises that almost resembled laughter, but the elders never laughed, they only grumbled. Even the eldest was surprised by the pleasantness of his own giggle. Until he heard the strangest noise coming from down the dirt lane. The elders all craned their nacks to hear this odd call.

“It’s an elephant with a whooping cough,” said one.

“No it’s a a trumpet swan with laryngitis,” said the other.

“No it’s a Speckled Loperafical-dee-do,” cried another.

This time they all laughed. They laughed so hard that they had to get up out of their lounging positions to breath. They bent over with bellowing fits of guffaws. The eldest even jumped around a bit.

Soon the source of the noise was visible. The boy again, blowing into a large hose that seemed to have some sort of funnel at the end. As the boy blew into the hose a strange noise came out of the funnel. This was the noise the Elders heard.

The boy appraoched the Elders and stopped blowing on his homemade trumpet.

“You want me to stop?” the boy said with a long face. After all he liked to be heard.

“The Eldest looked down at the lad, his smile strangely fixed on his wrinkley face. He held out his hand and the boy gave up his new instrument. The Eldest looked at the boy, then at the odd and ingenious noise maker. He held the end to his own lips and blew. The noise was horribly loud and utterly horrendous, it went on for much too long.

The eldest stopped and turned to the boy. “That was a Loperafical-dee-do.”

The Elders laughed so loud that the entire village came out to see what was going on. The boy smiled as wide as the eldest as he turned to get his pot…yelling all the way.

You see he finally knew he had been heard and it was wonderful.

The Boy Who Wanted to be Heard. (A Fable) by 


Another little fable…not sure why these are popping into my head.

I am a poet at heart.
A writer in dreams.
A father always.
A man.

I am, perhaps, me.

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Comments

  • MicheleSS
    MicheleSSover 5 years ago

    very sweet, I love it!

  • Aww…thanks sooo much Michele. I enjoyed writing the 2 fables on here…odd how things just pop into ones head. Keep cool! I am sure it is as hot there as here….
    : { )}

    – Paul Rees-Jones

  • Alison Pearce
    Alison Pearceover 5 years ago

    Excellent!!

  • thanks Alison!
    : { )}

    – Paul Rees-Jones

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