I can remember it being a scorching summer day, I was a young pig in search of anything to cool myself down with. My brothers and I ventured out and happened upon some glorious mud to roll around in. We laughed and snorted with the utmost joy as we coated ourselves in the mucky sludge, steam rising off our hot little bodies. This is my fondest memory of my brothers,
the last happy memory I have of them.
Once upon a time three pigs ambitiously set off from their family home to start adult lives of their own. Each of the three pigs had goals they set out to achieve. First was Larry, who wanted to be a children’s author. The second was Terry, he loved gardening and wanted to grow all his food. Lastly, was Harry and he loved to build just about anything. Harry told his brothers that his house would be the sturdiest because he would use brick to build it. A couple of years passed by and each of the brothers was well established. All of them had homes. Larry was finishing up his third book “Jack and The Beanstalk”. Terry grew the juiciest watermelons in the world. And Harry even met a lovely lady.
Two Years Later
As I push my blade deeper into the stomach of a young wolf, warm blood drips from its mouth onto my forehead. I’ve noticed it tastes bitter and metallic with a hint of sweetness if you leave it on your tongue long enough. I looked deeply into the black abyss that is the wolf’s eyes, and the abyss stared back at me showing me that day when my life changed forever. I wish it was just a dream but I can still remember the chills running up my spine when the police raccoons came to our house and told my parents that a wolf had slaughtered my brothers. All three of them. The chief of police raccoon explained to my parents all the gruesome details,
“There was blood everywhere… body parts were found… Harry’s girlfriend was also brutally murdered… a heinous crime it is”. I ran to my hut and cried until the orange sun crested the mountains the next morning, lighting my tear-stained face. I thought of how the wolf spared no one, how could it do such a thing? What kind of evil exists in this world? Fear pulsated through my body from my snout to my curly tail, my hooves were ice cold while my stomach was burning hot. At that moment, I swore to myself that I would have revenge on that wolf or die trying. I couldn’t sleep that night, nor any night from that point onward.
It has now been five years since my brothers have passed. I have spent every moment of the last half a decade obsessing over getting my revenge. Every day I wake up with a knot in my stomach that reminds me of my mission and motivates me to sharpen my skills. It’s plain and simple, I live to hunt down and kill wolves, nothing more. There is nothing more satisfying than that brief second when I have a wolf on the verge of death. At that moment, when I look deep into the wolf’s eyes, I see my brothers waving at me and I immediately feel a rush of calming energy. Although it lasts for an instant, the experience takes me away from the pain and sorrow. Nothing has ever felt more right to me than that of killing those ungodly beasts.
Throughout my travels, I have slain wolves of all species and sizes, so much so that my name has gained notoriety. Cerdo Guerrero is what they call me, warrior pig I think it means. I’m not sure what it stands for exactly but it rhymes and I like that. In the past, I would spend countless hours tracking wolves, but now citizens from different parts send for me to come to their villages. I have nearly two or three letters dropped off to me by owls each week, and each letter requests that I come to another town and sort out those pesky wolves. I wish I could help all of them, but my time is limited and my goal is clear. I’ve read every letter in search of my wolf, but alas each one has failed to mention the wolf with the scar across its face. When the police were asked if there were any witnesses to my brothers’ murder, they mentioned there was an old chameleon by the name of Jackson who lived near Harry and his brick house. Jackson told the police that he saw a wolf in the area on the same night the murder took place. He also mentioned that the wolf had a monstrous scar upon its face, beginning at the eyes and ending at the snout. This is all I knew of my brothers’ murderer, the only detail that would carry me through the years.
It is now Sunday, and I think I’ve finally found the wolf that killed my brothers. I was given a tip from a local villager a few days ago as he noticed a particularly ugly wolf roaming around his settlement. Now, all wolves are hideous but this one he said “is scarred up in the face”. Naturally, I am intrigued and I find it difficult to contain my excitement.
As I stand in front of the cave, I take a deep breath through my snout and exhale slowly through pursed lips. My body is trembling in anticipation. I reach into my rucksack and pulled out a dried wolf’s head I had been saving for this occasion. I throw the head at the mouth of the cave and begin making a racket clanging my swords together. The head rolls perfectly so that it is facing up as if the decapitated wolf is staring deeply into the cave. I want to show my enemy their death while they’re still alive so that when I kill them they die twice. Never have I ever been so hungry for blood before this very moment. Now I understand the wolf. As I delve deeper into the cave I notice, there in the darkness, not one but three pairs of glowing yellow eyes peering out at me.
Five Years Later
It is a beautiful summer night and my family and I are enjoying a relaxing evening in the very same mud pit my brothers and I frequented as piglets. I watch my beautiful wife and our amazing child play together, an overwhelming feeling of gratitude engulfs my entire being. I can’t help but remember that day when I was face to face with the wolf that killed my brothers. When I laid eyes on the wolf cubs, it dawned on me that she was a mother providing for her young. That hunger for revenge inside of me evaporated. For a brief second all was clear, by hunting monsters I, myself, became a monster. If I slew the wolf, her cubs would have surely died a horrible death they did not deserve. I disappeared that night and never killed another wolf. It was this event that made me realize that revenge would not have given me the satisfaction I wanted. Now, I find that satisfaction in my own family, every day. I can sleep well at night knowing that those wolf cubs did not suffer the loss of their parent, and a family was spared the carnage of being ripped apart unjustly.
Inspired by “The Three Little Pigs”, Tyler’s version is a hero’s story, crafted to showcase character development and redemption after wrongdoing. This story was made to have a higher degree of complexity than the original tale and deals with themes of loss, forgiveness, and family.