once upon a time, there was big bad wolf and three little pigs,
who all lived in harmony. one day, after they all realised that
puberty had happened too long ago, and they had to grow up,
they had to find houses, and the four of them seemed to part
their ways.

the wolf had no idea what to do, so she tried everything, and
everyone, and found it no use to invest in anything. she would
sit slumped on the floor of the shower, and find it impossible to
stand, and would fall over yellow safety lines and scare strangers.
after all, she was a wolf. a big bad wolf.

one of the little pigs built a straw house. another one built one
of sticks. these two would constantly convene on how their
houses were constantly collapsing, and made the homeless,
prowling wolf feel like she was intruding upon them. so the
wolf lost these two best friends to each other.

the last pig, the most human, the closest thing to a person,
built a house of bricks. this superior building material seemed
to wall her in, and she isolated herself from everyone else.
especially her porcine friends and moreso her wolfie. however,
somehow other people were able to have a place in this last
pig's life, and they had special access to her vault-like environs.
this upset the wolf greatly. especially that effort was spent on
those she thought less close, or those that were prioritised
above her, or the wolf's certain weakness and she had no
explanation. and so the wolf lost another friend,
the one she was perhaps closest to in some means of the four.

the wolf was distraught. being a different species to everyone
else, never quite fit in in the first place. but the pigs lived happily,
and squealed a good day but never needed her in their lives.
and she felt stupid for thinking she needed them, and that she
was ever happy.

the end.