The following is another story I wrote when I was five.
Once upon a time, there was three pigs, three wolves. They were nice. The pigs thought the wolves were not their friends. The pigs found out they were their friends. The end.
I believe the three pigs could be considered my brother, our friends, and I. The wolves could represent a few of the neighbors that we were not as close to as the rest. Growing up my brother and I were very close to the other kids that lived in our neighborhood. We were always together getting into some sort of trouble, or what we considered trouble. I think this story is talking about some of the kids that lived on my street that would never play with us, so we thought they didn't like us. Eventually they joined us, every once in a while, and we learned that they thought we didn't like them either. We all then realized that we were friends and hung out more often.
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