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I still remember the first lie I told. It took birth from my overactive imagination and need to impress. It slipped out of me before I could catch it in my throat. I wondered why I said those words. I worried about the numerous pinches I would be subject to if they find out the truth.

 

I could feel a thousand nervous butterflies in my chest.

I wiped my sweaty arms onto my uniform skirt.Lies are hard to create. It takes effort, laser like focus and a brain Working over time. I could feel a lump of fear in my throat. But I knew what had to be done. I believed that the lie was necessary. That made the act of lying the easiest thing in the world.

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Relief sank into my bones when I realized not one person figured out I was lying. I was good at this ! A natural! I was high on deception. Lying was giving me an adrenaline kick like no other. The tiny voice in the pit of my stomach hysterically warning me about the perils of dishonesty, was drowned out by the victory cry in my head.

 

I did it.

 

I lied and not one person was any wiser.

Every lie helped in the creation of the next. They came to me consequentially. In time I had an alternate series of events that existed inside my head. I wrapped myself in the web of lies I was building. In my story I was the damsel who was in distress, the victim , not the liar.

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I lost touch with reality one lie at a time. I stood by my lies with conviction. In my reality the line between truth
and lies was blurring. I didn’t know which side was right anymore.