Fraggle Rock Short Stories

The Worries of Friendship

Gobo's best friend, Wembley, suddenly becomes distant. Gobo sets out on a mission to understand what's troubling Wembley and discovers the importance of open communication in maintaining strong friendships.

A frown creased Gobo's brow as he watched Wembley absentmindedly poke at his lunch of radish slices. Usually, Wembley's enthusiasm for food rivaled Gobo's love for adventure, but lately, Wembley's sunny disposition had been shrouded in a strange silence. "Hey, Wembley," Gobo nudged him, "you alright? You barely touched your lunch and haven't sung a single tune all day!" Wembley offered a weak smile, "Uh, yeah, just fine, Gobo. Just… a bit tired, I guess." Gobo didn't believe him for a second. Wembley wasn't the type to bottle things up. They were best friends, partners in exploring the wonders of the Fraggle Rock. Whatever was bothering Wembley, he wouldn't share it. The next few days were filled with strained silences. Gobo watched Wembley skip out on their usual games of tag, opting to wander aimlessly through the caves. It gnawed at Gobo. He missed his best friend's infectious laughter. One evening, after Wembley had retreated to his cave early with a mumbled excuse, Gobo decided to take action. He found Wembley fiddling with a postcard from Uncle Traveling Matt, his usually bright eyes clouded. "Wembley," Gobo said gently, sitting beside him, "we've been best friends forever, right?" Wembley nodded, not looking up. "Best friends tell each other stuff, even the scary stuff," Gobo continued, "What's going on, buddy?" Wembley finally met his gaze, his voice barely a whisper, "I... I'm scared, Gobo. Scared of growing up."

Gobo blinked.

"Scared? Of growing up? Wembley, you have to grow up." Wembley chewed on his lower lip, "What if...what if I don't get to play anymore? What if someone  assigns me to sorting pipes or something boring?" Gobo realized then, Wembley wasn't just scared, he was worried about losing his passion of being a child. A wave of understanding washed over him. "Wembley," Gobo placed a hand on his shoulder, "No matter how old you become, you're still a Fraggle. Al Fraggles play, no matter what age they are. A flicker of hope returned to Wembley's eyes. "Really?" Gobo grinned, "Absolutely! Besides, even if they do have you sort pipes, you can probably come up with a better way to do it!" A small laugh escaped Wembley's lips, the sound like music to Gobo's ears. The weight lifted from his own chest. He'd missed the sound of Wembley's laughter. Wembley learned that day that communication was the bedrock of strong friendships. Sometimes, the best adventures weren't through unexplored caves, but through the unexplored depths of your best friend's heart.