The Town without Music

Jake is a traveling musician that comes to a town in the american mid-west that has outlawed all forms of music.

The town was full of bright colors. There were flower beds full of bright yellow, deep red, soft violet and striking light blue flowers in front of every house and in every window. The houses were full of bright, warm colors that seemed to radiate joy and life from their very walls. Each building was a splash of color against the dull grey dust of the plains. Every building was a flower defining the monotone pains, except for the mayor’s. His house was grey, so grey that it melded with the dead plains, utilitarian, and depressing. The mayor loathed inefficiency and wastefulness. He felt that the good people of his town were squandering their good fortunes on parties, flowers, and other trivial things and he decided to do something about it.

            After days on the trail, Jake was glad to see the town. He was looking forward to sharing the songs and stories he had collected on his travels and to collecting the local myths and legends. Jake was a traveling bard, he traveled around to frontier town, collecting the local stories and sharing some from his collection. The saloon owners paid him in food and housing because always drew in more customers. He checked all of his instruments before he headed into town; they were all in perfect condition.

            The first impression that Jake had from the town was that it was depressing. All of the buildings were grey, the streets empty and silent and when someone did appear on the street, they hurried to their destination with their head down. Jake noticed that some of the townspeople started to walk towards him but, stopped after they got a good look at him. He had a curious feeling that something was wrong with this town. The traveling bard decided to look into it after he found the saloon and had a room for the night.

            After twenty minutes of casual searching, Jake finally found the saloon. More then once on his quest Jake had silently cursed the monotone town for confusing him. All of the stores had the same sign with the only difference being the actual words written on them. The saloon was very small and was hidden in the back alleys of the town. Just like the rest of the town, the saloon was grey and very simple but, compared to the rest of the town it was very run down. Weary from all of his days of traveling, Jake quickly hitched up his chestnut horse, grabbed his instruments and hurried through the grey double doors.

            Even though hit was a little early in the morning, Jake was shocked at how few people were in the saloon. The saloon was dark, even with all the shutters open, the surrounding buildings stole the sun and left only deep, black shadows for the dingy little bar. There was one lantern swinging from the ceiling but, all the light was quickly consumed by the shadows. There were about three simple round tables with three or four rickety chairs at each table. Behind the bar, that looked like a block of wood, stood a tired looking, ancient, old man that was constantly wiping an impeccably clean mug with an equally clean rag. There was no one else in the saloon that Jake could see but, the shadows were so plentiful and thick that any number of people could be hiding in them, silently watching.

            At the sound of Jake’s foot steps, the old man slowly tore his eyes away from his monotonous task and said. “Why ‘ello ther’ younst’r, ya must be new in town ter crawl inter this her’ dung’n or ya ‘nowd that it be bad luck ter be seen enteren this ol’ dried up watren hole.”

            Jake’s interest was piqued, “Why is that?” Jake inquired.

            “Well, ev’rybody ‘nows that the may’r went crazy a coupl’ o’ munts ago and started ter make crazy’r laws.” Explained the bartender as he went back to cleaning the already perfectly clean mug.

            “What laws?” Asked a very curious Jake as he walked over to the bar and leaned against it, earning himself several splinters in the process.

            “Well f’rst he went and o’tlawed parties, that right there nearly put me o’t o’ bundus, den painten anyt’ing ot’er den da buildens grey like hid house. After dat, he o’tlawed flurs, most kinds o’ drinken, not all because den he’d had ta face a lynchen, and finaly he went an’ stopped all music an’ stories,” explained the elderly barkeep. “Ya want somten ta drink? I only got one kind o’ wisky left though.”

            “No, I don’t drink” explained Jake. “If things are so bad here why doesn’t everybody leave of impeach the mayor, he is only an elected official?”

            “Ya might no a’ noticed, but tis here town is out in da middel o’ noware and most fowks don’t got noware ta go. We cant get rid o’ da may’r becase he controles all da sheriffs and they count da votes. If ya don’t drink why did ya come in here? Ta toy wid an old man’s heart?” Said the old man.

            “Well, I am a traveling bard. I go around to remote towns and collect their local legends and songs and then I share the stories that I have already collected at the local saloon for food and a room,” explained Jake. He realized that he was in a tough spot because he probably didn’t have enough food to make it to the next town he had no money.

            “Yer lucky dat da sheriffs are out on a manhunt fer a feller dat painted da inside o’ hid door blue inted o’ grey ot’erwise youd had ben arrested just fer haven all dem instraments.” The ancient bartender said as he scrubbed vigorously and a nonexistent speck of dust in the mug.

            “What is the punishment for singing and telling stories?” Inquired Jake, thinking that if it was just a few nights in jail he would be able to deal with that if it meant getting food or money.

            “Well,” the old man paused as if he was trying to remember something important, “first o’ all, yer intraments would be taken an’ most likely burn’d, ya would have ta spend some time in da ol’ jail house, how long I can’t rightly say. Ya might get a fine an’ run outa town as well.”

            At that moment, the double doors to the saloon burst open and six large men stormed in with the bow-legged cockiness of expert horse men. Each one of them had the look of hardened trail men who had spent more nights on a bedroll then in an actual bed. They all wore leather vests that had been died grey with plain dust and pinned onto those vests were bright, shiny, brass sheriff stars. A little ways behind them was a very average looking man who was a little on the short side. He wore a dull grey suit, with a bright white shirt underneath, and a top his head was a grey bowler hat. Everything about him whispered boring, city man, except for the smug authority in his walk and the superiority in his gaze.

            As the man looked around the dark dungeon he gaze rested on Jake. “Well well well, what do we have here? You, my friend, must be either new or stupid to be displaying those crimes against productivity and efficiency with such obvious pride,” said the man in an authoritative tone that showed that he had had power for most of his life.

            Jake simply shrugged and said, “Your right I am new to this town, just rolled in about thirty minutes ago. May I ask who you are?”

            “I am the mayor, treasurer and judge of this wondrous town. Now it’s my turn to ask. Who are you and why are you here?”

            “My name is Jake and I am a traveling bard. I go around towns collecting and sharing local stories and song. I originally came here because I saw the town and I wanted to get some food, lodgings and help the local saloon bring in more customers with my songs and stories. I have recently learned that music and story telling is illegal in this town. So now I’m just here to pick up supplies and directions so I can continue onto the next town.” Jake calmly explained.

            “I’m sorry but I will have to have you arrested for possession of musical instruments, intention to sing and play musical instruments and intention to tell stories” The little man casually declared.

            “But I didn’t know…” Jake started to protest.

            “Ignorance is no excuse for wrong doing.” The mayor interrupted. He then signaled four of his six sheriffs to arrest Jake. Jake struggled against them but they were too strong. “Now we can add resisting arrest to the charges” The mayor exclaimed with a light of joy in his eyes. As the men dragged Jake out of the dark building and into the sun, Jake looked back at the old bartender to ask for help but, his pleas were ignored as the ancient man continued to clean the spotless mug.

            After everyone had left the old, decrepit saloon, the old man sighed and said to no one in particular, “Dis id de beginun of de end for dis town. Dat fool o’ a may’r will push dis town too far by da e’d o’ dis.”

            The trial was short. Jake’s defense was not that he hadn't committed the crimes but that the laws themselves were unjust. The mayor decided that that meant that he had pleaded guilty to all charges before the jury could decide. At the sentencing the mayor was very harsh. “The defendant’s instruments of music shall be immediately and completely destroyed. In addition because of the number and severity of his crimes I have decided that it will be impossible to rehabilitate him to be a productive member of society and I hereby sentence him to execution at sundown.” The mayor judge banged his gavel to end the sentencing. Jake was in a state of shock as he was haled out of the solemn grey courthouse. He looked around and was shocked to see that it was already sundown. Four of the six sheriffs took him to the scaffold at the edge of town and quickly and quietly hung him.

            As soon as word spread of the execution the townspeople rose up in protest. The mayor quickly retreated to his house and tried to calm the furious rioters in vain. Once he realized that words couldn't calm them down he ordered his six sheriffs to use force. They quickly killed ten townspeople. Soon the whole town was involved. Flash, a fire had started up in the mayor’s house. The fire quickly spread through the rest of the small, grey town. Several people realized what was happening and fled. The rest were too enraged to notice anything other then things to be destroyed. The fire inevitably spread to the small, dark, broken down saloon. The old man just stood there as the building burned around him, still trying to get that invisible bit of dirt out of the mug. He only looked away to marvel at his saloon, full of light for the first time in years. The people who fled when the fire started only looked back to see that their little town was full of colors once again. For several brief minutes the town that had been beaten down stood defiantly against the grey planes.