Three Little Pigs

"There were three little pigs. Humpty, Dumpty, and I forget the other one's name"


"Their names was Little, Brittle, and Nittle."


"No it was not."


The Old Man stood up, and walked towards The Child.


“Son, don’t listen to the young man over there. Their names were Humpty, Dumpty, and Lumpty.”


“Did they even tell you their name?” The Young Man stood up in an aggressive manner.


“I should ask you the same thing.” The Old Man replied as he crept closer to The Young Man.


“Does the name even manner?” The Child said as he ate his marshmallow.


The group were sitting around a camp fire. The surrounding area was pure black. You could barely see the forest that surrounded the group.


“Look kid,” The Old Man breaking the silence. “There were these three pigs.”


“Shouldn’t I tell the story?” The Young Man interrupted. “I actually killed the wolf.”


“Shh. You’re getting ahead of yourself.” The Old Man turned to The Child. “That young man and I were hunting for meat.


While going through the forest we stumbled upon a sight that neither of us had ever seen before. I mean, imagine seeing an animal known for walking on four legs. Now, imagine see that animal walking on two legs, and building themselves a home.


Three pigs. Each building a home out of a different material. One was building his house out of straw. The other out of sticks. And the smart one was building his house with bricks. BRICKS! How do you even get bricks in the middle of the forest? Where do you even buy bricks?”


“The kid didn’t ask for your commentary.”


“Okay okay.


So, we had time to spare. And this is the first time we’ve ever seen something like this. Thus, we approached the animals.


Each of the pigs spoke English. Each spoke it with a different tone though.The first two speaking English normally, like how you and I speak it. Though the one building his house with straw spoke nicer than the pig building his house with sticks. But the one building his house with a brick had this high and mighty tone to him.”


The Old Man turned to The Young Man. “What is that word that means you’re speaking down to someone. Like, you know; putting someone down.”


“It’s condescending.” The Child responded.


The Old Man turned back to the child. “Thank you, kid.


So, anyways, I ask them ‘where y’all from?’ You know what they tell me?”


“They say they’re from here.”


“CAN I TELL MY STORY, PLEASE?” The Old Man stopped a second to rest. “Anyways, apparently, the main city is across the creek over there.” The Old Man pointed to the left. “I think the creek’s that way at least.”


“It is.” The Young Man leaned down and took out his phone. “It’s about 500 feet from here.”


“Alright, thank you for that information.” The Old Man turned back to The Child. “Now, back to my story.


So, we keep talking with them, and they tell me that some wolf has been terrorizing the area. Now, we both are thinking that if it’s just some wolf, we can shoot it down. So, we agree to go help catch this wolf. We hear from them that this wolf is holed up some cave not so far from here. Thus, we head over there.


When we arrive there, we find a whole bunch of pigs knocking on the door of this house cave thing.”


“It’s basically a house inside a cave. The pigs are knocking on the front door.”


“Yes, thank you.


So, we’re both confused. I thought that this wolf was terrorizing the town, but it looks like the town was terrorizing the wolf. I tell Michael something ain’t right.” The Old Man points at The Young Man. “That’s Michael, by the way. I know we didn’t get a proper chance for introductions”


“Which by the way,” Michael puts his phone back into his pocket. “I just want to make my logic clear. I just thought the town’s people had gained the courage to go confront the wolf.”


“Stop calling the beast a wolf.”


“That thing was far from being a beast.”


“But he was not a wolf.”


“Just continue your story.”



Michael and I bust into the house. I tell the pigs stay back, out of fear that they might get hurt. Michael walks is deep into the house. I’m at the front entrance, keeping the crowd under control. Then, BAM. I hear a gunshot. The pigs all scatter, for they have never heard of a sound like that. I walk inside.

In what you would call a living room, there was a stone couch with a wooden table. But, on top of that table was a dead wolf.

The wolf was something I’ve never seen before. That thing was shaped like a human. Long arms, long legs, a big torso, which was covered in blood. Well, there was blood everywhere, because Michael shot him.  

But, Michael just stood over him, covered in the animal’s blood, not moving, with eyes wide open, as if he had done something wrong. Michael then drops his gun, falls to his knees and says

‘I have done something terribly wrong. The beast was innocent.’”


Michael puts his head down. The Old Man turned to Michael.


“You okay?”


“I’m fine.” Michael gets up. “I’m gonna go scout the area.” Michael emerges into the darkness.


“Can I go home now?” the kid says.


“We can’t go home. Michael killed an innocent wolf, so the rest of the wolves are looking for us now.”


“How do they know where we live?”


“I was getting there, kid.


Michael tells me that the wolf said that some of the pigs have been going around and raiding homes. They usually run off when the wolf police come. The pigs have been blaming the wolves for any bad that happens in the area. Michael said the wolf died before he could continue talking.


We then hear howling. Michael picks up his rifle, and we make a run for it. We find some bushes and hide. And I see at least 10 wolves walking into the home. They must’ve been detective wolves or something.


Michael and I run home. Pick you up, grab some supplies, and you know the rest from there.”


“But, why am I here?”


“Michael thinks that the wolves will kill ya if they come to our house.”


“Are the wolves tracking us?”




“Are we going to die?”




A gun is fired in the distance. The Child screams.


“Shh. Don’t worry. You’re gonna be fine” The Old Man says soothingly. There was a shakiness to the man’s voice. “I’ll be right back. Stay here. Don’t move.”

The Old Man runs into the darkness.


He comes back with a water bottle and throws it onto the fire. The Old Man stomps the fire until the fire is no longer alive. He then grabs his rifle and covers The Child with his arm.


“Michael. Michael!” The Old Man whispers loudly.


There is no response.