TheThree Little Pig Supremacists

Three Little Neo-Pazis

It was a clear day when the wolf left his house.  He left with the intent of buying some pork from the store, but then he realized: the store’s out of town, why not just get some from one of those pigs on Maple Street?  Nodding, he set off for Mr. Pig’s condo.  Mr. Pig was an infuriatingly rich lawyer, but all around a pretty agreeable fellow, the problem was in some… er… racial differences.  Mr. Pig was a Neo-Pazi, a pig supremacist, and wolves were amongst their least liked people.  The Wolf, whose name is, ironically enough, Mr. Wolf was understandably nervous when he approached his the door to Mr. Pig’s condominium.  Mr. Wolf knew that the condos on either side belonged to his friends and fellow pig supremacists.  The door was open before Mr. Wolf had time to think about what he was going to say.  Mr. Pig’s appearance did nothing to help his nerves.  He was tall, taller that Mr. Wolf and was dressed in a leather vest and no pants.  His hair was brought back n a long pink ponytail and twin Omega symbols hung from each ear, the sign of the Neo-Pazi.  He was intimidating, but Mr. Wolf knew that he could be presentable in front of a jury.  The pig took one look at him and all the rage at being interrupted drained from his face to be replaced with a strange look of fear.  Then Mr. Wolf, Tom by name, remembered the stories in the paper, a wolf not far from his age had slaughtered six pigs, all of them known Neo-Pazis.  Without another word the pig pushed him out of the door and ran to the next room, into his friend’s home.  Faintly, Tom heard the sound of a lock being turned and a chain being latched.  He was astounded by this reaction, he hadn’t tried to be intimidating, in truth he had probably looked scared.  But Mr. Pig had just freaked out.  He went over to his friend’s house, whose name was Ms. Sow, Jenna for short.  He approached that door and moved to knock, but Jenna’s word’s held him fast: “it’s okay, he can’t get in here, you know what, I think I still have my nine mill pistol in my desk, I’ll go get it, just to be safe.”  Tom’s muscles failed, how could anyone have so much dislike without any bias whatsoever for it?  He couldn't comprehend that level of abhorrence.  And it made him feel like an alien.  Suddenly, his sadness was absorbed, obliterated, by a sudden and deep anger. 
His knuckles rapped against the door… hard.  He heard a sharp intake of breath from the other side, “Who’s there?”
“It’s Tom Wolf, you racist jerk.  I just came to get some pork!”  He noticed just as he finished the sentence that it could be misunderstood… and badly.
         He heard a yelp from the other side and then: “you bastard, your little Regime killed my brother, you hear that?  Killed him dead.”
         Tom was growing furious, “I obviously am not part of the Regime, I just want food.”  His anger was blinding his logic; he wondered what he had to do to get anything through to this idiot.
         “So you’re a cannibal, eh?”  Triumph was in his voice.
Tom heard Jenna’s voice on the phone, “Hello, police?  I have another wolf murderer at my home…” she continued, but Tom was no longer listening.
His shoulder slammed into their doorframe and he felt the wood shatter under the pressure.  He hit it again, and again, and the chain snapped and the door swung inwards.  The two pigs stood, looking stunned, they actually think I’m going to kill them! Tom realized.
“I just wanted to buy some…” but he couldn’t continue, because there was a loud gunshot and the wood beside his head exploded, he was glad Jenna’s hands were shaking.  He moved, and another shot missed.  Jenna screamed and ran, and Mr. Pig, also known to some as Simon, was already out of the door.  As Jenna ran she shot again, and a chunk of flesh was ripped from the side of his leg.  He howled and gave chase, a slight limp on the left side.
Heads were peaking out of the other condos; many simply closed the door after seeing the action, but others hurled insults at him, though none would actually attack him.  They were well dressed, and almost all pigs, he saw one wolf, who was yelling along with the rest of them.  He found no support; it filled him with a great emptiness that so many would side with the people who just put a bullet in his calf.  The two pigs opened the door to their other friend’s home, named Jim Swine, and slammed it in his face…or tried to.  Filled with adrenaline, he thrust his hand in the door, and felt four fingers shatter; he never knew how audible breaking bones were. He pushed against three pigs and felt the door move back.  And he squeezed into the apartment.  Jenna raised her pistol and Tom lunged for her.  The gunshot split the air beside his head and he felt his hearing in that ear disappear, a line of blood materialized on the side of his face.  His unbroken hand closed over the gun and he heard another shot before he wrenched it out of her hands.  His next breath was a rasp that starved for air, but at least he could still breathe.  He leveled the gun and put a bullet between Jenna’s eyes.  She collapsed.  The other two screamed almost simultaneously and lunged for him.  He shot again and two bodies slammed him to the ground, one considerably more limp than the other.  He felt a spurt of arterial blood and saw that his shot had hit Jim Swine in the throat.  Simon punched him in the face and his vision turned black momentarily.  He pulled the small pistol into his gut and shot the four remaining bullets into Simon’s chest, who groaned, gave Tom a surprised look, and fell limp on his chest, his ponytail dangled on his face.  Tom pushed the body off him and attempted to take another breath, it came rasping and filled with blood, he coughed, a phlegm filled sound and blood dribbled onto his chin.  He looked down and noticed that he had a red hole in the middle of his left pectoral… he had been hit in the lung.  He looked around at the carnage he had created and began to cry.  The bodies lay in a perfect triangular formation.
Tom Wolf stood in the middle of that triangle, covered in blood.  He sobbed uncontrollably.  He knew he would do life for this.  As his sobs became more comprehensible, the words he was muttering became clearer: “I just wanted some pork… I just wanted some pork.”
His pistol came up slowly, almost cinematically, and he placed it under his chin.
As the door opened behind him his finger tightened on the trigger.


“You spend your life being shown that everyone is out to kill you, doesn’t it make sense that you would start believing it?”
-Anon.

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~Chris Rush