The Small Soldier

There was once a little soldier who signed up to the army for the greatest war of all. To defend his country and kinsfolk against the tyranny and oppression of invading forces of some mighty foreign lord. In his training he was a committed and disciplined soldier, adhering to all the rules and regulations, but in marching he was bad. And what was most wanted from any soldier was precision in the march. The squad was supposed to act as one man, with their arms and legs perfectly synchronized. Each stomp of the boot and a company of men's heels would click down as one. He, however, could never get his synchronicity right and his arms and legs would go flailing about the place, with no timing or purpose. His steps were always out of time, and he made the rest of the squad look like fools. So, the army had no choice but to give him his final marching papers and send him home. His service was no longer wanted. He went home sad and disgraced, and left soon thereafter, to roam the countryside alone. Here he traveled a long and lonely journey, until he came across a troupe of traveling musicians and minstrels, and by a twist of fate he joined them. They went around from town to town, sometimes serving great lords and kings in their splendid courts, and sometimes serving the common public in pubs and at fairs. Entertaining all with their music and song. To the opening of each performance, they would come marching in as a bunch of clowns, with their feet and limbs unsynchronized and their arms and legs flailing all over the place. And he was right there among them, doing his crazy antics to all's amazement. It mattered little that he wasn't a great soldier, as his brothers and the crowd had become the cause of his struggle. He was happy and fighting a new war now. That of the art of entertainment and merry making. Boosting the morale of all. Sometimes freeing men's spirits is more important than freeing their flesh.