I never meant for it to spiral,
like a snowball tumbling down a hill.
I never knew it would snowball so fast,
or how deeply it would cut.

It was just a small lie, nothing outrageous.
I told my friend I had a water gun in my bag,
a toy for a showdown under the blistering sun.

But oh, how he gossiped,
how he spun the tale from ear to ear.
Each retelling made it darker,
until I was a threat poised to paint the school red.

Walking the halls, I saw fear in every glance,
an abyss of disbelief and terror.
I smiled, oblivious, as the snowball gathered speed,
rolling faster and faster.

Then I saw him again,
my so-called friend,
his eyes filled with guilt.
The lie had become an avalanche,
and I was caught in its path.