The Remarkable Rocket

Once there was a great wedding in a kingdom. The prince and princess's love was celebrated with music, dance, and a gleaming fountain in the garden. In the evening the fireworks master would light a magnificent fireworks display that everyone waited for.

In a long wooden box lay the fireworks and mumbled expectantly. There were Roman Candles, which shot colored stars up in the sky, and the Catherine Wheel (a spinning wheel that sprayed sparks). But most proud of all was a long, thin rocket. He called himself The Remarkable Rocket.

"When I go up the whole sky will be amazed," boasted the Rocket. "My parents were famous. My father spun so long people thought he would never stop, and my mother lit up the stars – so sensitive was she!"

"Love is the finest thing," said the Roman Candle mildly. "I burn to celebrate it."

"And I shall dance like a whirling ring!" sang the Catherine Wheel and sparked.

"Love! Dance! Pah!" snorted the Rocket. "I am bigger than that. I am so sensitive I can cry just from thinking about this evening. And when one is as sensitive as I am one becomes of course very, very important."

He began to shed large tears of self-pity. The tears ran down his clay and moistened the fuse. "See how noble I am!" he continued between the sobs. "No one really understands me. But tomorrow everyone will remember only me."

When darkness fell the fireworks master carried them out to the garden. The Catherine Wheel was lit first and danced around in a ring of silver. Everyone clapped their hands. The Roman Candles shot up blue, green, and red stars that reflected in the fountain's water. The audience cheered loudly.

"Now it's your turn," said the fireworks master and lit the Rocket's fuse.

But it only sputtered, coughed, and went out. The Rocket had become too wet from all his own tears.

"A bad rocket," muttered the fireworks master and shook his head. He threw it over the garden wall, out on a trashy field. The party continued, but the Rocket only heard his own echo: "I am remarkable!"

He landed in a ditch among nettles and dry grass. The night was quiet. Soon a frog stuck up its round head from the water.

"Good evening," croaked the Frog politely. "What is your profession?"

"Profession?" snorted the Rocket. "I have a mission! I bring brilliance to royalty. I am so fine that common creatures can barely speak with me."

"I see," said the Frog and blinked. "My family has lived in the ditch for generations. We are very distinguished."

"Distinguished? In a ditch?" laughed the Rocket dryly. "You don't understand greatness. Farewell! I must save my voice for important people."

The Frog shrugged and dived. Then came a shimmering dragonfly buzzing over the water.

"What a lovely day!" sang the Dragonfly. "I was born this morning and tonight I dance under the stars. My life is short, so I'm happy every second!"

"Short?" said the Rocket contemptuously. "I live for the future. Joy is for those who don't think. I am so profound I'm seldom happy – and that proves how noble I am."

The Dragonfly smiled. "Perhaps. But I at least have time to be happy. Goodbye!" She flew onward, glittering in the dusk.

A little later a white duck waddled forward with her fluffy ducklings.

"Move over," said the Mother Duck. "The children can get sticks in their feet."

"Children?" exclaimed the Rocket. "I only speak with adults. Besides, I will soon rise to the skies and have everyone talking about me for several years."

"Is that so," said the Duck and gently nudged her ducklings past. "It's best to be useful first, before one boasts." And then she swam away into the dark water.

Night passed. Morning came. No one in the palace thought about the wet, discarded rocket. But toward afternoon two boys came walking across the field with a basket of sticks.

"We'll make a fire for our kettle," said one. "Look! A long stick!"

He grabbed the Rocket, who felt very offended. "A stick? Me? I am an artist!" he wanted to shout, but no one listened.

The boys arranged a small fire behind a barn. They laid the Rocket on the embers as if he were any twig. The sun shone. No audience, no music, no drums. Only the birds' chirping and the wind's rustle.

The heat crept slowly into the Rocket's damp fuse. It dried, caught fire – and suddenly, with a hiss and a wheeze, the Rocket came to life.

"Finally!" he cried (at least in his head). "Now you'll see!" He went up into the bright sky, higher and higher. He didn't see that the boys had already run to fetch water for their kettle and weren't looking up.

With a great BANG the Rocket burst into a hundred sparks that faded in the daylight. No orchestra stopped, no audience cheered. Away in the yard an old goose raised her head and said: "Did you hear? Thunder! Best to go in." And that was all.

On the way down as ash the Rocket thought contentedly: "What a success! What a boom! I knew I was remarkable." He landed softly in the grass, happily unaware that no one had seen him.

And so ended the story of The Remarkable Rocket. He believed big words made him big. But it's not talk that lights up the sky, but what you actually do – and when you do it.