Wolf at the Door

postmodernThe littlest pig lived in a house made from structurally engineered bamboo. When the wolf peered through the huge, triple-glazed window, the pig was doing yoga. Behind him was a standing desk, with an expensive-looking computer on it.

The wolf rapped sharply on the window with his paw, as he hauled out his cigarette lighter, and a can full of accelerant. Then he set the house on fire. No point in wasting breath.

The startled pig hot-footed it down the interstate, with his titanium-cased laptop under one arm, and his partially rolled-up yoga mat under the other. The wolf shook his shaggy head, then followed at a more sedate pace.

The second pig lived in a house made entirely out of glass and chrome. When the wolf arrived, he could see the resident ungulate talking to his younger brother, who was gesticulating wildly. “Two for the price of one,” thought the wolf to himself. He lobbed a rock from the conveniently located rock garden through the nearest window.

“I’m calling my lawyer,” the middle pig shouted, through the jagged hole in his window that the wolf had made. Then both pigs took to the road, the younger one still clutching his laptop and yoga mat, his brother holding his smartphone tightly to his ear, and speaking tersely into it.

The oldest pig resided in a house that had been specially built for him by an internationally-renowned architect, whose name everyone knew, but nobody could pronounce. It consisted of angular sheets of remarkably reflective metal, joined together at peculiar angles. The wolf whistled in appreciation, and touched one sharp edge with his paw. It drew blood. He stepped back a few paces and sucked on his finger, while pondering his next move.

Just then, the sun came out from behind a bank of clouds. The radiant heat, reflected from the house, focused precisely on the spot on which the wolf was standing, fried him instantly to a crisp.

The pigs ate roasted wolf steaks for weeks, although the oldest pig was occasionally heard to mutter that the meat tasted gamey.

There are two morals, dear reader, that one may draw from this tale.

The first, is that authors should not overly anthropomorphize, as it is unseemly. Mea culpa.

The second is that there’s little point in scrutinizing this story, in order to determine which characters are the heroes or the villains. It’s simply a pig eat wolf world sometimes.