-WildClan-
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(The Three Little Pigs, but it’s existentialist horror, hooray! xD)
Once upon a time, there were three pigs, a trio of brothers who set out into the world to leave their mark upon it. However, the world was a vast place, making the three pigs seem extraordinarily little in comparison. To shelter themselves from the terrifying unknown, the three pigs each decided they must first build a house.
The first little pig built a house out of straw. It was hastily-assembled and not intended to last. “Why bother with effort,” he thought, “when in the end, we all fade into nothingness? We must spend our time achieving happiness in the moment, not laboring in pursuit of efforts that will ultimately be futile!”
This pig lived his life one day at a time, never thinking far ahead. He joked, he sang, he danced, he laughed at others’ entertainment. He jumped from one pursuit to the next, not sticking to any one thing long enough to accomplish anything of note. It was true, that he felt transitory happiness, which transcended it all, if for but a moment. However, in the lull between one hedonistic activity and the next, or late at night, when he lay awake in his bed of straw, he couldn’t shake the sense of unfulfillment hanging over him. “Nothing I’ve done has been of worth,” he worried. “Is this really all there is?”
When the wolf came to blow his house down in a single breath, the pig had nothing left to defend himself. He had never bothered to prolong the end, after all. He disappeared from the world as the remains of his straw house were scattered by the wind, the fragility of his home mirroring the fragility of his existence. His memory quickly was forgotten.
The second little pig built a house out of sticks. It wasn’t the strongest, but it felt like the right thing to do. “Sticks are the most righteous material to use,” he nodded solemnly. “It does no one any harm to build a house of sticks, and a pig needs nothing but his own trotters to construct it. Through kindness and hard work, I will live a worthwhile life.”
This pig was active in his community, always being there to help others, even at his own expense.
The third pig, grappling with the absurdity of existence, labored tirelessly to build a house of bricks. “Perhaps resilience is the key,” he pondered, “But even then, can we ever truly escape our inevitable demise?” Despite his efforts, however, the relentless march of time wore down his fortress until it too succumbed to the ravages of entropy.
And so, as the wolf of existential dread bore down upon them, each pig's futile struggle against the void was laid bare. Their houses crumbled, their hopes shattered, and in the end, their memories were wiped into oblivion, lost to the vast expanse of nothingness that awaited them all.
In the darkness of their final moments, the pigs realized the true horror of their existence: that in a universe devoid of meaning, their efforts were ultimately meaningless, their struggles insignificant, and their lives fleeting whispers in the void. And as the curtain fell on their tale, the echo of their despair reverberated through the emptiness of eternity.built a house out of straw. It was hastily-assembled and
Once upon a time, in a world where existential dread hung heavy in the air, there were three little pigs who sought to build homes to shelter themselves from the terrifying unknown.
The first pig, fearing the futility of life, constructed a house of straw. “Why bother with effort?” he thought, “In the end, we all fade into nothingness.” But the fragility of his home mirrored the fragility of his existence, and it was easily destroyed by the slightest breeze.
The second pig, plagued by doubt and uncertainty, fashioned a house of sticks. “What's the point of strength?” he mused, “In the grand scheme of things, we're all insignificant.” Yet, his feeble attempt at security crumbled at the first sign of adversity, leaving him vulnerable to the whims of fate.
The third pig, grappling with the absurdity of existence, labored tirelessly to build a house of bricks. “Perhaps resilience is the key,” he pondered, “But even then, can we ever truly escape our inevitable demise?” Despite his efforts, however, the relentless march of time wore down his fortress until it too succumbed to the ravages of entropy.
And so, as the wolf of existential dread bore down upon them, each pig's futile struggle against the void was laid bare. Their houses crumbled, their hopes shattered, and in the end, their memories were wiped into oblivion, lost to the vast expanse of nothingness that awaited them all.
In the darkness of their final moments, the pigs realized the true horror of their existence: that in a universe devoid of meaning, their efforts were ultimately meaningless, their struggles insignificant, and their lives fleeting whispers in the void. And as the curtain fell on their tale, the echo of their despair reverberated through the emptiness of eternity.
Once upon a time, there were three pigs, a trio of brothers who set out into the world to leave their mark upon it. However, the world was a vast place, making the three pigs seem extraordinarily little in comparison. To shelter themselves from the terrifying unknown, the three pigs each decided they must first build a house.
The first little pig built a house out of straw. It was hastily-assembled and not intended to last. “Why bother with effort,” he thought, “when in the end, we all fade into nothingness? We must spend our time achieving happiness in the moment, not laboring in pursuit of efforts that will ultimately be futile!”
This pig lived his life one day at a time, never thinking far ahead. He joked, he sang, he danced, he laughed at others’ entertainment. He jumped from one pursuit to the next, not sticking to any one thing long enough to accomplish anything of note. It was true, that he felt transitory happiness, which transcended it all, if for but a moment. However, in the lull between one hedonistic activity and the next, or late at night, when he lay awake in his bed of straw, he couldn’t shake the sense of unfulfillment hanging over him. “Nothing I’ve done has been of worth,” he worried. “Is this really all there is?”
When the wolf came to blow his house down in a single breath, the pig had nothing left to defend himself. He had never bothered to prolong the end, after all. He disappeared from the world as the remains of his straw house were scattered by the wind, the fragility of his home mirroring the fragility of his existence. His memory quickly was forgotten.
The second little pig built a house out of sticks. It wasn’t the strongest, but it felt like the right thing to do. “Sticks are the most righteous material to use,” he nodded solemnly. “It does no one any harm to build a house of sticks, and a pig needs nothing but his own trotters to construct it. Through kindness and hard work, I will live a worthwhile life.”
This pig was active in his community, always being there to help others, even at his own expense.
The third pig, grappling with the absurdity of existence, labored tirelessly to build a house of bricks. “Perhaps resilience is the key,” he pondered, “But even then, can we ever truly escape our inevitable demise?” Despite his efforts, however, the relentless march of time wore down his fortress until it too succumbed to the ravages of entropy.
And so, as the wolf of existential dread bore down upon them, each pig's futile struggle against the void was laid bare. Their houses crumbled, their hopes shattered, and in the end, their memories were wiped into oblivion, lost to the vast expanse of nothingness that awaited them all.
In the darkness of their final moments, the pigs realized the true horror of their existence: that in a universe devoid of meaning, their efforts were ultimately meaningless, their struggles insignificant, and their lives fleeting whispers in the void. And as the curtain fell on their tale, the echo of their despair reverberated through the emptiness of eternity.built a house out of straw. It was hastily-assembled and
Once upon a time, in a world where existential dread hung heavy in the air, there were three little pigs who sought to build homes to shelter themselves from the terrifying unknown.
The first pig, fearing the futility of life, constructed a house of straw. “Why bother with effort?” he thought, “In the end, we all fade into nothingness.” But the fragility of his home mirrored the fragility of his existence, and it was easily destroyed by the slightest breeze.
The second pig, plagued by doubt and uncertainty, fashioned a house of sticks. “What's the point of strength?” he mused, “In the grand scheme of things, we're all insignificant.” Yet, his feeble attempt at security crumbled at the first sign of adversity, leaving him vulnerable to the whims of fate.
The third pig, grappling with the absurdity of existence, labored tirelessly to build a house of bricks. “Perhaps resilience is the key,” he pondered, “But even then, can we ever truly escape our inevitable demise?” Despite his efforts, however, the relentless march of time wore down his fortress until it too succumbed to the ravages of entropy.
And so, as the wolf of existential dread bore down upon them, each pig's futile struggle against the void was laid bare. Their houses crumbled, their hopes shattered, and in the end, their memories were wiped into oblivion, lost to the vast expanse of nothingness that awaited them all.
In the darkness of their final moments, the pigs realized the true horror of their existence: that in a universe devoid of meaning, their efforts were ultimately meaningless, their struggles insignificant, and their lives fleeting whispers in the void. And as the curtain fell on their tale, the echo of their despair reverberated through the emptiness of eternity.