An old man and a small boy stood in a barren field beside a river.
"Great grandpapa, why are we here?" the boy asked.
"Great grandson," replied the old man, "this was once my home."
"You lived in a field of mud?" the boy asked, scratching his head in confusion.
The old man chuckled and scanned the field as he thought back to the old days, where as a child a quaint village once stood. In this desolate wasteland once stood a cluster of tiny homes surrounding a simple church on top of a hill.
"Not quite son," the old man finally replied. "There was once a village here, before the rot came."
The old man took a deep breath and began to tell the boy a story about the old times.
In those days, there was a man named Johnny Bells. Every Sunday, Johnny rang his bells and the townsfolk would leave their homes to go see him play. He was beloved by his neighbours, who travelled far and wide to spread the word about their town's special boy.
At the Mayor's zealous recommendation, the town had even invested their collective life savings into making Johnny the next big star. They believed once word reached the outer regions, people from all over the country would flock to see the renowned Johnny Bells.
But as years went by, the town was saddened to see themselves welcoming fewer visitors than any era in memory. Johnny kept playing his songs every Sunday, while the Mayor struggled to maintain the peoples' faith in Johnny Bells.
Tragically, the townsfolk's faith in Johnny soon crumbled. The Mayor's persistent insistence that Johnny was a star had simply become part of the everyday ambience of the village. This heavily frustrated the Mayor who in desperation began holding mandatory town hall meetings where the villagers were forced to listen to Johnny's bells and exuberantly praise his songs.
But the Mayor's grasp on the village was weakening, and his methods quickly turned cruel and unusual. The compulsory town halls became hopelessly grim, as the townsfolk endured months of abuse at the Mayor's hand.
Eventually the townsfolk had enough of Johnny. Nearly everyone in town took an opportunity to attack Johnny in the street if he happened by. Finally matters escalated, and the villagers savagely kidnapped Johnny. They dragged him to the river's edge where they tied an iron bell to his legs and threw him into the frigid water.
The Mayor knew his days were numbered. He fled town on horseback but was quickly caught in a nearby forest. The townsfolk dragged him back to the village, where they pulverized him into a mushy pink paste. They took the paste and spread it into a thin layer to dry out in the sun. Afterwards, the dried mush was ground into a fine powder and tilled into the farm soil as fertilizer.
But to this day, deep under the surface of the river, Johnny still plays his songs. And curious visitors finally began to travel to the village to hear it. Plunging their heads under the river's surface, intrigued travellers can hear Johnny's song endlessly ring out as the river's current rattles his bones against the large iron bell.
"Please great grandpapa," the boy pleaded, "I want to hear Johnny's song."
The old man smiled. He picked up a rock, and with it he cracked the river's freshly formed ice. He and the boy plunged their heads underneath the surface of the cold water together.
Bong
"I hear it!" exclaimed the boy, with ice cold water dripping off his head. "I hear Johnny!"
Dong
"The bells from the deep, that's him," said the old man. "He's a star now."
"When I grow up, I want to be a star too," said the boy.
The old man smiled as he pulled out two cigarettes from his breast pocket. He lit them both, and handed one to the boy.
"Thanks great grandpapa," said the boy, shivering as he puffed on his cigarette.
They began their long walk back home, both blowing smoke and daydreaming about Johnny and his song. The sun was slowly setting over the empty field, as Johnny's song rang out for nobody underneath the cold river.
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