“What is truth?”

-Pontius Pilate

Over the years, the boy who cried wolf and people of the town had become entangled in a co-dependent relationship. But it wasn’t always this way.

The first time he cried wolf had been absolute mayhem. A bored, restless teenager, who mostly felt empty on the inside, his life was a fertile breeding ground for madness to plant its seed. He was walking in the hills bordering the town when the idea came to him that would disturb the people’s normal rhythms forever.

“wolf! There’s a wolf coming!! Everybody run!! take cover!!” he shouted from the hilltop overlooking the town. The people screamed and fled. Mothers scooped up their children and old men grabbed their canes and pick axes. They shut the town down and a troop of well-armed men emerged from the town square ready to fight. But there was no Wolf.

That was the genesis of this well-known phrase – “the boy who cried wolf”. You’ve probably heard the tale before, with the moral being don’t say there’s danger unless the danger is real.

Well everybody knows that story, but most folks have never heard what happened afterwards. The boy was scolded and criticized. Pretty much everyone in the town refused to speak to him and his own parents were ashamed to have raised such an ugly-hearted young man. So, he went to live in the hills outside of town, where no one would see him and life in the town went back to normal.

***

But life in the town was so predictable and dull. After a period of time people settled down and forgot just how terrible the panic of that day was. In fact, they looked back on it a little bit fondly. It was thrilling and fun.

So, the townspeople went into the hills to find the boy who cried wolf and ask him to come back. They invited him to cry wolf around town several nights a week at various locales and even offered generous compensation for his time.

This was a novel concept, but his “cry-wolf” shows really took off. Next thing you know, the boy was a shining celebrity around town.

And it wasn’t very long afterwards that the boy was booked every night of the week and certainly every weekend to go out and cry wolf. The people lapped it up and he began a multi-town tour, traveling all over the land crying wolf for his voracious audiences.

It was a bit of a problem, and some of the more serious types (i.e. those curmudgeons who hated fun) raised the issue that now no one could tell if the Wolf was really coming. They said people had become so used to hearing the boy’s entertaining cries that they could no longer accurately gauge if there was danger or not. Meanwhile the people continued to be enchanted by his cries, whilst also becoming increasingly numb to them.

As it turns out, the Wolf did come a few times during this time period, even though no one really noticed. Once, the Wolf ate a few children at the local playground and another time an old man got eaten as he walked home from the town tavern late one evening. But these real-life instances were drowned out by the now constant blare of the boy who cried wolf.

As time went on, even the well-polished wolf-cry act of the boy began to bore the townsfolk. Their attention was scattered in a thousand directions, and their minds were deadened to his alarming message. A boy crying wolf had become so normal that it failed to scare them any longer.

By this point, the boy’s whole livelihood was at stake. He had become a famous entertainer and if his fans weren’t listening then his whole career could be in jeopardy. Like any great artist, the boy would have to adapt and evolve with the times.

So, he expanded his act beyond just crying wolf. He began to tell stories from the daily lives of the townsfolk. But he would slightly change the particulars, emphasize certain parts of the story while downplaying others. He would embellish the details, make what happened seem more compelling. He constructed themes and narratives that would connect with his audiences. He learned the hearts of the townsfolk – their hopes and dreams, fears and insecurities. And he began telling new stories that would resonate on a deeply personal level with his listeners.

To the discerning eye it was obvious that the boy was still just basically crying wolf. But now the “wolf” had become tailor-made to fit people’s pre-conceived ideas. Almost everyone knew that listening to the boy was bad for one’s wellbeing, but his messages were just so terribly engaging that it made quitting almost impossible.

This ungodly arrangement became the new norm in the town. The people gathered every day to consume the boy’s cries like it was their daily bread. It was good for the boy who became extremely wealthy and well-known.

But mostly it was good for the real-life Wolf. In this delusional atmosphere he was able to daily walk into the town unimpeded, and in broad daylight devour whoever he damn well chose.

The Boy Who Cried "wolf"