Without any warning or the usual tell tale signs that accompany someone born to be famous,
out sprouted a young genius from the dusty old town of Harolton. He had brown short hair somewhat similar to that of an old mop, a devilish look and arms that looked like wooden canes made soft and bent from long use. Like a bot programmed to find information, Piggy scanned each and every document that he could find, whether it was the Harolton Daily newspaper lying on a wooden bench in the park or magazines in his neighbor's trash, pamphlets and flyers, he read them all. Piggy digested each and every read in such a hurry, it gave his brain hiccups. And that wasn’t even the worst of his many proud abilities. Without any form of premeditation or planning, Piggy always found himself where he wasn’t needed and like a beautiful butterfly after its nectar, Piggy, even though not so beautiful had an appetite for trouble.
As the hen in the farm said their morning greeting to all those who had ears to hear, they heralded the start of what would be Piggy’s best Thursday ever.
A little pool formed just beside the 12 year old rascal, every five minutes, another drop of saliva added to the fast growing ocean on the edge of his bed. Sprawled across like a slain chicken, the little soldier was lost in a world of dreams. In one of them he was a Viking warrior and he was leading his Scandinavian brothers to war against the west. He fought, wrestled and killed many and was now in a duel with their king, they were both enraged and fought a separate war with their eyes as they looked long and hard at each other. Piggy charged now, with a cry of rage, hard metal in his hand, he moved swiftly, leaped into the air and with all the force he could muster, he made to crash down on his enemy... “Piggy!” shouted Madelyn, piggy’s mother for the fifth time and the young lad leaped out of his dream and into his nightmare, home.
Piggy was the eldest of five ruffians, they all looked the same, slim and a stubborn expression that gave the impression that they fought for a living, features that were unmistakably their dad’s.
Every Wednesday night was Piggy’s turn to take out the trash and last night, like every other fourth night of the week, Piggy remembered to forget the garbage and slept early. He hated chores and usually got yanks in his ears for not doing them, yanks which Madelyn did not fail to give him this morning. She moved so fast, it was as if she was preparing for takeoff. Madelyn caught her son trying to flee via the window in his room “not so fast boy!” she yelled and reached for his tiny legs. The little devil was too quick for her and quickly made for the tree branch just outside his window.
Unluckily for him, his joy of escape from punishment was short lived. The branch which he grabbed unto happened to be weak and failing and with a little weight could no longer resist the pull of gravity. Down it fell, piggy with it. He hit a few branches which broke his fall and landed with a thud, his back feeling the full effect of the crash. Madelyn let out a gasp at the sight of what had happened and ran down the stairs. She came to meet a limping piggy dragging himself across the field still trying to make a run for it.
Seeing him up and on his feet gave Madelyn a huge feeling of relief, the fall looked catastrophic. However, watching his pathetic figure still on the run brought back emotions of anger. She walked towards him like a predator trailing its prey after giving it a deadly bite, just waiting for it to give up.
Madelyn took him by the hand, not wanting to put him in any more pain than he already was. Piggy just followed without any struggle sort of like a lamb being led to the kill and they both walked in silence to the house.
