“SIR! Were you or were you not around at the time all of this happened!?” The judge glared down at me. I looked around at the small country courtyard, an old building built of wood, filled with all sorts of witnesses and neighbors. The three pigs across from me were staring at me with anger and distaste.

“Ok yes! But let me explain, it was all just an unfortunate series of coincidences!” I replied.

“Ha! Likely story! My clients have clearly stated that you have threatened them!” said little Red Riding Hood, a lawyer who has grown to hate me and my family.

“Neagh!! He’s a monster! He single handedly blew over my house!” squealed one of the pigs.

“Would you like to give us your story wolf?” asked Riding Hood.

“Yea, I will,” I responded. I walked up to take the stand to testify for my own case. Standing up against the tall wooden podium, I cast a glance around to everyone in the courtroom. “Ugh, I guess this is a pretty publicized event,” I thought to myself, as I realized almost everybody in the community had come to watch the first court case in years. I cleared my throat, and began to testify in my defense.

* * *

It’s a tough life in the neighborwoods, always has been, and always will be. My wife left me five years ago, we both had to get a job to feed our family of 4 children. Since she left, everything has been up to me. It’s hard to feed them all, they are wolves after all, and they have a huge appetite! I was barely managing to keep them in school and fed through a job at McDonald’s.

I was working the fry cook shift again that day, while I was back at the fast food restaurant. Customers poured in like any other day, and I was busy for the most of the part.

“Alex! New order! I need two double cheese burgers!” I heard the gingerbread teen who worked at the front desk call back.

“Ok! Won’t take long!” I replied. I looked around the kitchen where I worked for so long. It was a small cramped space with freshly mopped tiled flooring, equipped with a cooking griddle, a deep fryer, multiple condiment containers, and a freezer. I reached down into the freezer, where the cold temperature jolted into my skin. Quickly, I snatched out four frozen beef patties, and threw them onto the griddle. I stared down at the flattened hamburger patties I’ve had to work with for the past five years. Grease slowly dripped from them, as they slowly defrosted and cooked on the grill. Grabbing up the nearby long metal spatula I had become so acquainted with, I flipped the pads of meat.