Bad but Good:The One Little Wolf by Ian

Second place winner in elementary age category (Fairy Tale Rewrite Provoke)


Liars. I know right? All fairytales are just lies. They lie to you. The pigs were bullies. Yes, there’s a wolf involved, but they blame me because I’m on the scene.

They’re a bunch of jerks. I just got pardoned from a 25-year sentence. You’re probably saying, “That’s a long time!” because you’re right. That’s about 500 wolf years. Jeez. It started 25 years ago. I was 1 year old (18 wolf years) when I got out of Cub Academy.

I was walking home when I heard someone being bullied.

These three pigs (I call them hogs) we’re being mean to my friend. I wanted to help, but I couldn’t. I just stood there, watching my friend being bullied.


I start walking towards them. What? I’m just a puppy. Of course I do dumb choices! Anyways, I then turn around and keep on walking home. But there was a problem.

One of the hogs- I mean pigs- spot me. Then he yells “Hey!” I stop and stand there like a statue. He yells again, “Hey, kid!” I turn around. I do a deadly wolf stare. “Woah! He’s doing that dorky wolf stare!”

I start to swell up inside. “You got a problem?” one of them asks me. It hurts to try to talk. Uh-oh. I’m not so fierce anymore.

“N-no. No sir.” One of them laughs. “Can you make a brick house?” the oldest asks. “No.” “Can you make a stick house?” The second pig asks. “No.” The oldest starts laughing. The youngest, my exact height, stand in front of me.

“Can you make a straw house?” This question was so funny. I started giggling. When I look at them, they look at me in the Answer-This-Question-Or-I-Will-Hurt-You way.


“No.” Then they burst out laughing. When they’re not focused on me, I run. In the alley they are in, I hear cursing. Even the youngest is cursing. When I get inside my house, I look outside my window to see if one of them followed.

I lay down on my bed and start reading comics. My favorite is “Wolves in Outer Space”. It’s a good series of epic action. I then fall asleep.

After a while, I fall fast asleep. When I wake up, I smell meat. What all wolves like. So I’m walking to school, when I run into something pink and big. Oh, it’s a hog. Or, as you might call them, pigs.

Anyways, he blocks my path. I say to him, “Get out of my way,” and go around him. Suddenly, I’m lifting off the ground. I’m panicking. I’m flailing my arms and legs. “Woah there, little guy,” the oldest says, getting me to stop.

Then his little brothers come over to join “the party” (I don’t know why the youngest calls this scene a party) “What do we have here?” the second says.

“This wolf talked rude to me,” said the oldest. “Throw him out,” says the youngest. In an alley, I get thrown to the ground. “Don’t talk to me that way again!” he orders, spitting to the ground. He walks out of the alley and turns to a direction. Now I know which part of town he lives in.


The Flower Valley. Bullies don’t deserve to live in such a beautiful place. The next day, instead of going to school, I go to the pig’s house.

Then I see a house made of straw, one made of sticks, and the other, bricks. I head toward the brick house. I start knocking on the door. No answer. I start knocking harder. I’m now to the point where I’m punching and kicking.

I hear sirens in the distance. Strange. There are no crimes in this country.

Then the noise gets closer. Then I see the police are coming towards me. I end up with a 25-year sentence. I then heard the story that I’m the big bad wolf.

Liars.


THE

END


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