Three Little Pigs
By: Ethan Sanford
Before I start, I did not destroy the pigs’ homes on purpose! They tricked me. I just needed to get a gallon of milk that a neighbor had set aside for me, and the pigs blew it out of proportion for kicks and giggles!
Since the neighbor had promised me the milk while we were in the town park, Brandon, the oldest pig, must’ve overheard us and called his younger brother and sister, Pat and Chrystal!
"Ok, I’m a wolf, but the only reason I’d hurt someone is if they tried to rush and hurt me! Look it up! It’s called self-defense! Those wanna-be bacon tubs chose to be nasty towards me just ‘cause I’m a wolf!"
I was walking on the sidewalk from my house, and the neighbor lives half a mile away, three streets behind mine. As I was halfway to my first turn, I saw a silver canister-looking thing lying on the grass. When I picked it up, I saw that it was a metal water bottle labeled, “Brandon Frankfurt”. I knew Brandon (though not as well as I thought), so I made a detour to return it. He lived only two minutes away.
Brandon’s neighbor’s dog growls and barks at everybody, so a barbaric symphony greeted me as I got to his house and went up to his front door. I rang the doorbell. No one answered. I rang again after waiting a few minutes. No answer. During this, Sparky’s growling and barking louder than he usually does. I looked at him to see why, and then instinctively, I opened the bottle and looked in.
I like to think of the next part as, “one-two-three”. One second, I’m looking at the dog’s favorite chewable rope crammed inside. In the same second, I’m thinking, “That lit-”. The next second, the dog’s over the fence, practically clearing it. The third second, I’m running for my life from demons’ jaws.
As I got close to the street, the yard’s sprinkler system activates, shooting me in the eyes. I flipped around to save my eyes and open them again, and the dog bit me in the region that shall not be named. Almost mechanically, I howled in pain.
When a wolf howls in extreme pain or anger (which doesn’t happen very often, mind you), the wind that comes from his her snout is strong enough to obliterate anything in its path. Guess what I was facing when I howled?
The only thing remaining on the half-acre was the kitchen dishwasher, the rest of the house (and the backyard fence) scattered across the six backyards boarding Brandon’s.
In disbelief and frustration, I kangaroo-kicked Fido off of me and got up. Ticked off, I started walking to Chrystal’s house to notify her of the trickery her brother had played on me.
I didn’t know that the same Satanic characteristic runs in the Frankfurt family, so I was expecting Chrystal to be as angry as I was when I explained everything to her (which I never did). Never did I expect her to be in on it.
I got to the front door and rang the doorbell. After waiting for a few minutes, I noticed a sticky note next to the doorknob. It read, “Had to run to the store. Door is unlocked, so wait in the parlor”. As unknowing as I was, I turned the doorknob and started pushing the door open.
When the door was open an inch, I felt it pull on something. Looking down, I noticed a thin string running between the door and door frame. The next instant, I heard a small, “thwack!” and something small stabbed me in the same region Rover had bit me in.
I was barely able to collapse onto the sidewalk before the misery exploded out of my snout. Thankfully, I managed to scream instead of howl, so nothing other than my nervous system was destroyed.
After the pain finally went away, I heard a timer ring from somewhere above me. Standing and looking up, I heard a small, “snap!” from somewhere above the porch roof. Confused, it didn’t register to me until it was too late that a dumbbell rolled right off the roof and landed right on my left big toe.
Thinking back on it, I think that the sound of Hades’s choir left my mouth in a howl the moment my toe was annihilated. I think it took less than that for Chrystal’s house to be blown clear to Kansas, leaving its liftoff debris in the surrounding yards.
After the feeling in my toe came back, my clear thinking began to check out. Anger taking the reins, I began to hobble to Pat’s house to rant to him.
At this point, I should have connected the dots. However, autopilot had kicked on, and in ten minutes I was on Pat’s front porch, I jabbed the doorbell, but no answer. I jabbed it again, not releasing for a whole second. No answer. I raised my clenched hand to knock, but I stopped it when I saw a sticky note on the door’s window. It read, “doorbell does not work. Pull cord”. Glancing up, I saw a white string dangling an inch above my head. Thinking it would ring and notify Pat that I was here, I reached up and pulled it.
Something at that instant knocked me out, and I woke up thirty seconds later in the lawn across the street from Pat’s house. Or what was Pat’s house. Debris rained down on the block, on fire. A crater had replaced the house, and burning wood and metal lay all over the yard, fires populating the property.
Dazed and confused, it took me a second to register the police sirens that quickly grew louder. Before I could say anything, I was handcuffed and being escorted to a police car. The officer escorting me was talking. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything that..”
Two days later, I’m now sitting in the local jail, my conviction trial having finished close to an hour ago. Going to jail isn’t on many people's’ bucket list, but here’s what really gets me about this whole thing: apparently Pat had reported that I had threatened to blow up his house. Want to connect the dots, or should I?
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Pat had packed his house with explosives. And guess what else? As the officer escorted me from the courtroom to the car that would take me to the jail, I passed Pat, Chrystal, and Brandon. The species of fish with no eyes could see that they could barely keep a straight face. Their faces were contorted as they gave their greatest effort not to burst out laughing.
They say that wolves are predators that don’t have any mercy, but those pigs pulled the dirtiest con on me because I have a lot of fur and big teeth and big ears! Guarantee you when I get out thirty years from now, they’ll get straight faces and deny ever being involved.
Trick the neighbor’s dog into siccing me, activating the sprinkler system to soak me, nail gunning me, and blowing up a house just to make me look like a big bad wolf. Come on, I can’t even file my taxes correctly without having to google it and then phone a friend.
Doesn’t matter. There’s no evidence to prove my innocence, and no one will probably bother to listen anyway. So excuse me for just sitting here and scowling.
