Writing Prompt

__ __ When I am withered, rusted and fading i will see you in my final times. My final 10 seconds will be memories of how it once was and how I begged you for your love. My knees ache from begging. Waiting and wishing something of yours could be mine

I lied. I’m sorry that I lied, But I don’t know another way to live. I lie all the time.

I lie to my friends, My family, Strangers, Myself.

Sometimes it starts out as the truth, But than my truth changes, And I don’t know who I am without the past, So I pretend it still exists in the present.

I’m smart, Funny, Talented, Confident… See how nicely it fits? If a recipe is perfect why change it?

I lie about feeling happy, I lie about feeling confident, I lie about being put together, Or I’ll just manipulate the truth.

I lie about who I am, So everyone will think that I’m the girl, I wish I was.

(I don’t normally put trigger warnings but there is a lot of pro ana tips that I don’t want people to follow, and heavy references to disordered eating/body image I guess? I’m not quite sure)

I’d definitely promise I was quite the honest person, I’d declare I was logical, well rounded, I’d claim my morals were fixed; But don’t we all say things that aren’t true, Little white lies to placate our conscience. Don’t we all believe the lies we tell ourselves, Convinced their what we need? Don’t we Don’t we Don’t we all.

You see, I made a mistake A silly, silly mistake My bitter thoughts themselves Were not the crime Merely The sly perpetrators Or perhaps the ones that drove me too it Before crying at my funeral.

We live in a society where disordered eating is encouraged: Crash diets that fix all our problems incessantly advertised Conflicting information, eat this, don’t eat that That I can never make sense of Constant pressure, do better Try harder Can you blame me for crumbling? Battered tower Can you? When the storm was so angry Looking me in the eyes Can you really?

This unfamiliar point Is a dangerous edge Of which I have tried And fought. I used to find meaning in philosophy Religion that I fell to in awe Scraped knees Bless the uneven floor My greatest stability. But sometimes, At some points You get tired.

No, not tired Not quite. You get numb, Gut wrenchingly numb Like your soaked through to the bone But you can’t quite care When drowning feels so comforting. Gasping for air feels so futile. The screams seem so loud, this being a chance of them stopping. The screams being my thoughts.

You see there’s regulations I have to follow To a point, they are my law My God 2 meals That’s all that’s acceptable 20 chews For each bite 2 litres of water At the very least 2000 calories Well that’s a sin Rules Rules Stupid rules.

But maybe then I’ll get what I desire Bulging cheekbones Sunken collarbones Gap between my thighs. Then more Jutting kneecaps Flat stomach Count my ribs. Cause isn’t being thin being happy? And being happy’s all I ever wanted Being ok Being safe Being fine. All these silly little wishes, Dropping like childhood innocence Washed away by tears.

I used to think I was quite the honest person I used to say I was logical Well rounded I used to believe my morals were Fixed; Well I want to be a skeleton Not a person I want to be emaciated Not well rounded Like my weight my morals Fluctuate, never good enough. And so enter the lies

I ate earlier.

I’m not hungry,

What! I’m thin why would I diet?

I want to fade I want to fade in a soft way In a slow way. I want to be nothingness As in oblivion I want my absence to be notably there. Cause maybe then I’ll be ok, Ok enough to see people Ok enough to go out Ok enough to like myself; But I’m never ok Never. I just keep losing things Letting things fall Like that number on the scale. Forgetting the things That matter.

Happiness is warmth So if happiness is being thin Why am I so fucking cold So lost. This map of bones I trace Across my wilting skin Following desperately Again and again But it always leads To emptiness.

“That’s exactly why we want you to run.”

“Me? I couldn’t. There’s no way. I wouldn’t win.”

“But that’s what the people want. Poll after poll shows us that the public is craving someone who will be honest, who will just level with them. That’s why we want you to seek the nomination.”

She thought about it for a moment as the two-member search committee, well-practiced in the art of not speaking first, enjoyed their meals. Both vegans. Trendy, or coincidence? No matter. She took a bite of her sirloin.

“Our state is hemorrhaging money. We can’t afford to fix the schools or the roads, homelessness is out of control. We have more people moving here to take advantage of our ‘safety net’ system than we can handle, and to make things worse, people are moving out in record numbers. I can’t fix any of that. I’m just a businesswoman, not a miracle worker.”

“You’re not ‘just a businesswoman.’ I mean, let’s be real here, you’re the youngest billionaire CEO in the country. That has to mean something, doesn’t it?”

“It means I excelled in STEM classes and got lucky. There were three other people at Stanford the same time I was there who were knocking on the same door. I just got mine to market first.”

“You see what we’re saying? That kind of self-reflective honesty will go over like crazy with the Flyovers. They’ll eat it up. All you have to do is be honest. Be you. You combine that with your academic and business prowess and you’ll be a juggernaut.”

“Be honest? Be me? Really?”

“Really.”

“And you think I’ll be elected to the senate?”

“We never say we’re certain of anything in this business, but we’re as close to it as we can get.”

“And I can be me? As I am? Truth telling and all?”

“Truth telling and all.”

She took a sip of the gin and tonic she ordered because she wasn’t a drinker and it was the first thing she thought of when asked. It was the cocktail people always ordered in old movies. Tasted like a pine tree. She was not impressed.

Other than being class President in high school, she’d never considered politics. A lot of kids at Stanford were at Stanford because they didn’t care about politics at all. If they did, they’d have gone to a school in the east; Harvard or Yale or Georgetown or whatever. Schools with centuries-old, established pathways to power. Stanford was for innovation, deep thinking, cutting-edge tech.

Though, now that she was considering it, it sounded kind of amazing.

Senator.

She shook her mind clear of the power component involved. The private planes to wherever, the staff doing her every bidding, the reporters hanging off her every word. No, she’d focus on the ways she could help. She could be on committees—that’s what they did, right, join committees?—and fight for the Little Guy and force the fat cats do ‘pay their fair share!’ She laughed to herself as she considered just how quickly she was willing to disregard her own path to being one of the fattest of cats. That was good, though, right? That she was already wealthy. Meant that she wouldn’t be beholden to any special interest groups, that no one could tell her to dance with a promise of some much-needed donations. She’d be her own person.

She’d run her own show.

She’d make real change.

She’d be the one to finally tell the truth.

She had almost forgotten that night in the three decades since winning her first election. How bright eyed and naïve she’d been. How silly.

She couldn’t remember when lying became simpler to deal with. It happened so subtly that, well, she never noticed the change.

She put the glass down on the counter, the ice cubes dancing to a clanky tune, free from the muting slosh of the third round of straight gin in as many minutes.

“Madam President, it’s time.”

“Thank you, Mike,” she said to her Chief of Staff. “Time to go tell those rubes that everything is going great and they’ll all die fat and rich many years from now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

‘Technically,’ I thought, as I opened the door, ‘if I say part of the story and not the other then I’m not lying.’

“Where have you been?” Yelled my mum, rushing down the stairs, “you’ve been gone all weekend!”

“I had a sleepover,” I said quickly, “I don’t think my phone worked though so I couldn’t text you. I’m sorry.”

Obviously that’s not entirely true, but it’s not necessarily wrong. I was having a ‘sleepover’ at a villains house who had captured me, sure, but it’s still a sleepover. And when she broke my phone I knew it probably wouldn’t work, so that’s true too.

I just didn’t want my mum to know I was the superhero who was saving the city and getting hurt each day, even if I did have healing powers.

"So, how'd you damage your wing?"

Arietta sighed, leaning against the wall. "Accident as a child. My brother was a little too strong for his own good as a child, and, you know, he went a little too far. My parents couldn't afford to get the damage treated."

"How sad."

"I don't appreciate your sarcasm, Rhydian."

"My apologies. What's your name again?"

"Evette. Evette Briarwhisk."

"And you're a faerie, correct?"

"Yes. No iron, of course."

"Absolutely." He turned away from her, and Ari took the opportunity to swallow down her fear. Lying was not her strong suit at all -- that was solidly Indi. As a firm believer in honesty being the best policy, she tried to avoid lies at all costs.

But a few months ago, things had changed.

The Ace -- shorthand for 'Ace of Spades', a new criminal's calling card -- had begun to target those with disabilities. Sirens who lacked the trademark hypnotic voice, or dhampirs without an immunity to sunlight, or fairies and faeries alike born with deformed wings. Such as Ari herself.

It had been Indira, Ari's twin, who was the first in the Noxtus household to realise what the link was between Ace's newest victims. And it had been Indi who declared that the two of them would catch the criminal. So, naturally, she had to start lying a bit more.

"No, Mum, we're just going to meet our friends." We're hunting down a criminal who targets people like me.

"We're not going to do anything stupid!" We're hunting down a criminal who targets people like me.

"Yeah, we're just on Crown Street." We're staking out past crime scenes of The Ace of Spades to hunt down a criminal who targets people like me.

Their parents believed her. Their friends believed her. 

And most importantly, Ace seemed to believe her lies as well.

Fran woke and read her bible daily. She readied her self for work and prided herself in doing the best job possible.

“Fran, would you like to help with payroll?” said the boss.

“I’ve never done payroll, but I’m happy to learn,” said Fran.

She’d been helping out with this for a few weeks. One day she walked back to his office to ask a question and saw a game on the boss’ computer. Interesting she thought. This happened the next week too.

She went home and told her husband, “I think my boss is playing games while I help him with his job.”

“Fran, can you help with payroll this week?” said the boss.

“I’m really busy with statements this week,” said Fran after she finished her last one that day.

“I’ll find time then,” said the boss.

Two days later, the boss said, “Fran, can you take the mail to the post office today.”

“Oh, I’d love to, but I need to pick up my grandson right after work,” said Fran when she got off at 4 o’clock but didn’t need to pick her grandson up til 5:00.

“I’ll make my way there today then,” said the boss.

Moral: treat your employees with respect and model how you want your employees to act.

Fifty-five years his hands had settled roots and pulled briary weeds. Scratches and hives and when he forgot to put on his wide-brimmed hat those painful cancer spots on his head. But those were all little sacrifices for the advice he gave to the women who brought their ailing houseplants or outdoor roses to him. They always wanted to know what aphid, or mold, or too much of the cheap fertilizer they bought on sale brought those yellow spots or crumpled leaves. And that wasn’t just it, many of them had queries about how to live with their husbands or what to do with those children. He could always give the perfect answer to soothe their woes. An honorable man, he only shook their hands or gave them a light kiss on the cheek when they turned and walked away. He had always wanted more. His only caresses and love making were for the year gathering trees and the perennials that came back season after season. The annuals were like one time visiting tourist. He loved them all. Yet, they did not return the same feelings. A colorful, cold beauty.

In the spring of his thirtieth year in that garden, he heard the first whispers from those dames, “He knows his plants, can tell you the truth about so many things—-but he’s no longer the looker he once was…”

A spade had wrenched his heart. It slipped a little to the left becoming more like stone. He stilled stayed faithful to his words and ladies.

They still came, he told them what to do. But their eyes cultivated his new assistant in his overalls without a shirt, pectorals dripping with sweat. They giggled and cooed and asked how he was doing. He received cupcakes and baskets of home made jam. He never had to offer them anything in exchange. No expert knowledge, just a flirt from snappy tongue or winking eye.

From him, they still wanted to know how to solve their problems with flora or family fauna. He still answered. Sometimes as sage, sometimes as spurned lover. An idea came, dark from that rocky heart cooled down with a layer of moss. He had a sale of herbs from that spring’s newly tilled plot. They all asked just how they should be used when he gave them rootings and seeds. For the most delicious of cuisines, he’d laugh and smile. Often they wanted a bunch from his garden, but he said he couldn’t allow it, it was against the city’s ordinances. So, those women placed those seeds of roots in their own gardens at home. Three seasons went by, then they were ready to make their tea and pot pies. The spiciest ingredient: lies.

He waited. He watched. His fifty-sixth year came filled with the planting of bodies in the sepulchral gardens. He always brought the most beautiful of bouquets and whispered their names with a wee bit of honest advice.

I always valued the truth. But i knew ways it could be bent. Because the people in this cruel world, Just love to play pretend. See i used to never lie. I would never bend my facts. But smiles and laughs every day are now a simple act. I don’t sleep at night and even if i do its never still, Because even i know that sometimes lies can kill. When someone asks how i am, I always answer ‘’great’’ And no one asks further because I’ve always been that way. I always valued the truth. But i knew it could be bent. I guess I’m just one of those people, who love to play pretend.

The squire stumbled back into the woman in the purple cloak. She looked down at him with curious eyes.

“Are you afraid Tobey?” She asked. Her voice was mesmerising. A gentle and soothing tone that calmed him. She put her hands onto his shoulder.

“N-n-no.” He replied. How did he know his name? They had only met just a moment ago and yet he felt he had known her for ages.

“Do you think you’re seeing things? The candles playing tricks on your eyes?” She kept her hands there.

“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.” He felt like his mind went from panic to placid and he couldn’t tell why. He no longer had skeleton and bats in his mind but this woman. The more he thought about it, the more she felt like someone he knew. His mother, but she was dead. He sheathed his dagger as his mind told him there was no threat.

“I don’t feel too good.” This was true. “I need to get some air.” This was partly true. In fact, he wanted to warn the Prince about the strange feelings that were in turmoil in his mind. Emotions that he had long forgotten.

She let go her grip and he felt dizzy. He felt slow. He tried moving but he was wobbly. Tobey reached a hand onto the side of the corridor to keep his balance.

“Do you want help?” She asked.

“No. I’m fine.” He lied. In his gut, he knew this lady was up to no good. He fumbled along back the way they had come in.