What Really Happened

Dinner was over and they were all lounging comfortably around the fireplace when he rose importantly from his chair. “My brothers,” he said grandly, “We have been very fortunate.”

“Hear, hear,” they mumbled, in what wasn’t exactly a rousing chorus of affirmation. But they ‘d come to expect this sort of thing; he was so fond of making speeches.  Happily he usually kept to inoffensive platitudes, and so they didn’t need to pay much attention.

“But,” he said, startling them badly, “I think we need to do more. This land is so troubled, and we could help so much.”

“Why should we?” one said bluntly. “We’re only three pigs, after all.”

“Not to state the obvious, but we’re three talking pigs. Any other talking pigs you know of around here? Not very. We’ve been given a gift. We have the responsibility to-”

“Look,” said the first pig, “I’d love to go on a crusade for justice or whatever, but I’m much too busy. I’ve been retained by Goldilocks, you know, in that trespassing suit the Three Bears filed. The trial prep alone could take months!”

“And it’s not exactly true,” said the second, “that we’re the only talking pigs. There’s Guinevere from Farmer Bob’s place. We’re sort of…seeing each other.”

“I see,” said the third pig in disappointment. “I had hoped…” Then his jaw tightened. “Fine. If we won’t band together, we bloody well can’t live together. I want you out of my house. By tomorrow.”

“But where are we supposed to go? The housing market’s wretched around here.  The brickmakers have gone on strike, too, and-“

“So use straw. Sticks. Your own droppings, for all I care. Just go.”

He felt a little remorseful when they did go the next morning, sniveling unhappily. One of these days, he thought, he would make it up to them. But that day never arrived. The wolf came first.  

This story was written for this week’s Trifecta prompt. It also takes place in the same universe as  my Third Little Pig stories, though chronologically it predates them. I decided a little backstory was in order.