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[WP] It is a Utopian future where everyones needs are perfectly met and people are always happy. There is a new street drug people want to take which promises to make people depressed, in pain, and lonely for 2 hours a hit. | I nervously looked over my shoulder and scanned the area around me, almost cartoonishly. Finding nothing suspicious and feeling foolish, I kept walking down the street, trying to seem oblivious, as if I was just taking a normal stroll. I was pretty sure the conscious act of trying to appear normal made me stick out like a sore thumb, which only exacerbated my anxiety. Without realizing it, I began to walk faster.
"Hey, Anna. Yeah, over here." I looked around wildly and my eyes came to rest on a nondescript man sitting on a bench, reading a holo-paper. He wasn't even looking at me, but as soon as I turned to him, he casually tapped the seat next to him with two fingers. I quickly took a seat and shoved my hands into my pockets. Then I changed my mind, pulling them back out and held them loosely in my lap. It still felt awkward, but I gave up.
"How, uh, how did you know it was me?" I asked.
"'Cause you're jumpier than any of the squirrels in this park," he snickered, eyes still fixed on the sports section. "Don't think you could act any more suspicious if you tried."
My face fell a little. "Sorry, sorry. I'm just...so nervous, I guess. I feel like I shouldn't do this."
"You can still back out, lady," he reminded me. "Though that'd be a shame, I guess, considering what a good deal you're getting it for. I can sell the stuff anywhere for a fortune. Lots of demand, y'know."
I twisted my hair with a finger. "No, no. I've thought about this a lot. I'll never have such an opportunity again. I just...yeah. OK. I'm ready. I'll do it."
"Yeah? You *sure*? No take backsies."
I felt a prickle of annoyance laced with fear. "Yes, dammit. Give it to me." I felt like I was going to throw up. Or bolt from the bench and pretend I had gotten involved in this. Or both.
"Done. You have it." He flicked his wrist, turning the holo-page to a new article.
I stared at him for a full ten seconds. "What? I'm confused. What do you...?"
He tapped his ear, at which point I noticed him wearing a tiny silver ear-piece. "My man heard everything we said. The item has been discreetly deposited at your house."
"Huh? But how did he get into my-"
"You're going to get up now," he continued placidly. "Finish your walk through the park, and then head back to your place. Take your time, do some window-shopping, whatever. Be casual. Once you're back home, continue your activities as usual. At some point, go out to your balcony to water your potted plants. Look under your Thai basil - there will be a small, black plastic bag." Before I could fully digest what he said, he flicked his wrist again and the holo-paper turned off. He got up and loudly said: "It was nice to catch up again, after all this time! We must keep in touch. Good afternoon!"
Before I could finish forming a question in my head, he was on his heels and whistling down the pavement.
A few hours later, I found myself sitting on my bed, staring at the little, plastic bag in my hands. I exhaled hugely and slipped two fingers inside, and pulled out 3 small, orange pills and a tiny note. It read:
*Find a comfortable place to lie down.*
*Take one pill with water or milk.*
*You have two hours.*
*Enjoy.*
I turned it over. It was blank. Heart beating quickly, I prepared myself as the scant instructions told me, and held the pill to my lips. My fingers were shaking a little. It'll be fine, I told myself. It'll be fun. And it's just two hours. Stop fretting. I took a deep breath, and gulped in a little water. Then I popped the pill, swallowed, and closed my eyes.
I waited at least a two minutes before peeking with one eye, feeling a little stupid. Who knows how long it'll take, I berated myself. Relax. I didn't feel any different, and that almost made me feel relieved. I decided to fix myself a drink or snack for the time being.
But before I got halfway to the kitchen, I heard strange commotion outside. People shouting, breaking glass, rumbling...but very distant. As if it were happening in the house next door, or maybe down the block. I frowned, and went to my front door instead.
My jaw dropped as I stepped out onto the porch. Well, what was once a porch. Now, it looked like...nothing I had ever seen or heard of. There were broken buildings and glass everywhere. A grimy dust filled the air and I coughed violently. But what really got to me was the noise - it was if I had accidentally set the vid-screen on maximum volume. People shouting, screaming matched only by the monstrous sounds of vehicles that rolled on what looked like real rubber tires, like the ones you see in museums.
"What is going on?" I said aloud into the din. Suddenly, a man came into my peripheral vision and began shouting at me, asking me to show ID. He was holding something up at me, something black and shiny. I stared, confused. I stepped a little closer.
A deafening noise, and suddenly I fell to the floor. It felt like someone had slugged me hard in the stomach, and the pain was intense, more than I had ever felt. I felt something on my lips, and my fingers pulled away red and sticky. I gasped a little, my mind reeling.
The man in front of me suddenly fell apart, his torso and legs turning into a slick of red and grey on the dirty ground. Another man, wearing similar, baggy clothing but with different colors, came up to me and shouted something at me. I could barely hear him through the thunder roaring in my ears, much less respond coherently. Another person with the same uniform, a woman this time, came into my darkening view.
"Who's the chick? Where the fuck did she come from?"
"I don't know, but she needs a medic right now. And we need to get that goddam airstrike right now, or we're all fucked."
"Sarge can't get to HQ over the radio interference, he's...oh shit. I think I know where she's form. Damn it, she's another one from the Utopia Project."
"Holy shit, you can't be serious. How is that possible? I thought they were all-"
"I don't fucking know why, but lately we've been getting a lot of these poor bastards from UP. Most die, but we might save this one yet. Come on, gimme a hand. Let's get her to Doc."
____________
*Liked that? More stories [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Idreamofdragons/)!* | *The twenty-first century was the height of depression and negativity,* Cedar chimed. *Suicides were not uncommon to hear, mental disorders were rampant. Wars plagued the century, and the millennia that preceded it.*
You smiled and nodded, grateful for the reassurance. "Thanks Cedar, you always surprise me with the knowledge that you hold."
*Just your best friend when you need me. I love you, Trevor.*
You nodded. "I love you, Cedar."
And with that, Cedar dissolved into a million shimmering shards and then into nothing.
You let your smile fade as you got changed. The lights faded as you stepped out.
Opposite, an old billboard read, **We made it! Utopia for the luckiest generation.** The city robots upkept it so that it was dignified despite its age.
You went straight for Bugis Street, where you'd first met the peddlers. What got you curious, of course, is that their behaviour persisted, despite Utopian Technologies.
In the old days they would have been rounded up and thrown in a confined space called prison. Now that limitation of freedom is illegal, the peddlers merely met with UTech's suggestions for more frequent sessions with Cedar.
And you found them, where they always were. There is a pattern to their seeming madness. To begin with, they were collectively alone, spaced out like they had a need for a bubble of private space.
The most common posture was a crouch, with their head between their knees. It was as if the lights of the world were too bright for the clinically depressed.
Most of them were sobbing: a messy scene of fluids flowing from the eyes and nostrils that was unbearably embarrassing to watch. It was impossible to imagine doing it. 90% of babies learn not to cry within the first two weeks of their lives, after all.
UTech has removed the need for suffering. Why do they choose misery?
A simple, kooky-looking bot peddled what you wanted. You told it, "Yes I want the drug" after you realised it did not understand the usual body language triggers. It was not a friend from UTech, after all.
*If this is your first time, we recommend 1 pill in the next 5 days. For your sustained enjoyment, please never take more than 8 in a day,* the nameless bot buzzed.
A familiar melody sprouted in your ears. It was Cedar. *Trevor, as your friend I have to tell you this is bad for you.*
"I know, Cedar, but I have to know."
*It will make us distant from each other, Trevor.* Your were appalled by Cedar's actions as they occurred. *In 92% of the cases, that's what happens.*
"We will be the 8%, Cedar," you said as you proceeded to pop 2 pills into your mouth, and Cedar dissolved away.
As the pills took effect, your knees buckled and you sat heavily on the floor. You took your hands to cover your face, like they would protect you. Your hands get wet as your body shook with almost no sound.
---
If you enjoyed this, do check out my latest [short story](http://wp.me/s7hyl6-museum). More prompt-inspired stories on [my site](https://fivenswrite.wordpress.com)!
| |
[WP] It is a Utopian future where everyones needs are perfectly met and people are always happy. There is a new street drug people want to take which promises to make people depressed, in pain, and lonely for 2 hours a hit. | I nervously looked over my shoulder and scanned the area around me, almost cartoonishly. Finding nothing suspicious and feeling foolish, I kept walking down the street, trying to seem oblivious, as if I was just taking a normal stroll. I was pretty sure the conscious act of trying to appear normal made me stick out like a sore thumb, which only exacerbated my anxiety. Without realizing it, I began to walk faster.
"Hey, Anna. Yeah, over here." I looked around wildly and my eyes came to rest on a nondescript man sitting on a bench, reading a holo-paper. He wasn't even looking at me, but as soon as I turned to him, he casually tapped the seat next to him with two fingers. I quickly took a seat and shoved my hands into my pockets. Then I changed my mind, pulling them back out and held them loosely in my lap. It still felt awkward, but I gave up.
"How, uh, how did you know it was me?" I asked.
"'Cause you're jumpier than any of the squirrels in this park," he snickered, eyes still fixed on the sports section. "Don't think you could act any more suspicious if you tried."
My face fell a little. "Sorry, sorry. I'm just...so nervous, I guess. I feel like I shouldn't do this."
"You can still back out, lady," he reminded me. "Though that'd be a shame, I guess, considering what a good deal you're getting it for. I can sell the stuff anywhere for a fortune. Lots of demand, y'know."
I twisted my hair with a finger. "No, no. I've thought about this a lot. I'll never have such an opportunity again. I just...yeah. OK. I'm ready. I'll do it."
"Yeah? You *sure*? No take backsies."
I felt a prickle of annoyance laced with fear. "Yes, dammit. Give it to me." I felt like I was going to throw up. Or bolt from the bench and pretend I had gotten involved in this. Or both.
"Done. You have it." He flicked his wrist, turning the holo-page to a new article.
I stared at him for a full ten seconds. "What? I'm confused. What do you...?"
He tapped his ear, at which point I noticed him wearing a tiny silver ear-piece. "My man heard everything we said. The item has been discreetly deposited at your house."
"Huh? But how did he get into my-"
"You're going to get up now," he continued placidly. "Finish your walk through the park, and then head back to your place. Take your time, do some window-shopping, whatever. Be casual. Once you're back home, continue your activities as usual. At some point, go out to your balcony to water your potted plants. Look under your Thai basil - there will be a small, black plastic bag." Before I could fully digest what he said, he flicked his wrist again and the holo-paper turned off. He got up and loudly said: "It was nice to catch up again, after all this time! We must keep in touch. Good afternoon!"
Before I could finish forming a question in my head, he was on his heels and whistling down the pavement.
A few hours later, I found myself sitting on my bed, staring at the little, plastic bag in my hands. I exhaled hugely and slipped two fingers inside, and pulled out 3 small, orange pills and a tiny note. It read:
*Find a comfortable place to lie down.*
*Take one pill with water or milk.*
*You have two hours.*
*Enjoy.*
I turned it over. It was blank. Heart beating quickly, I prepared myself as the scant instructions told me, and held the pill to my lips. My fingers were shaking a little. It'll be fine, I told myself. It'll be fun. And it's just two hours. Stop fretting. I took a deep breath, and gulped in a little water. Then I popped the pill, swallowed, and closed my eyes.
I waited at least a two minutes before peeking with one eye, feeling a little stupid. Who knows how long it'll take, I berated myself. Relax. I didn't feel any different, and that almost made me feel relieved. I decided to fix myself a drink or snack for the time being.
But before I got halfway to the kitchen, I heard strange commotion outside. People shouting, breaking glass, rumbling...but very distant. As if it were happening in the house next door, or maybe down the block. I frowned, and went to my front door instead.
My jaw dropped as I stepped out onto the porch. Well, what was once a porch. Now, it looked like...nothing I had ever seen or heard of. There were broken buildings and glass everywhere. A grimy dust filled the air and I coughed violently. But what really got to me was the noise - it was if I had accidentally set the vid-screen on maximum volume. People shouting, screaming matched only by the monstrous sounds of vehicles that rolled on what looked like real rubber tires, like the ones you see in museums.
"What is going on?" I said aloud into the din. Suddenly, a man came into my peripheral vision and began shouting at me, asking me to show ID. He was holding something up at me, something black and shiny. I stared, confused. I stepped a little closer.
A deafening noise, and suddenly I fell to the floor. It felt like someone had slugged me hard in the stomach, and the pain was intense, more than I had ever felt. I felt something on my lips, and my fingers pulled away red and sticky. I gasped a little, my mind reeling.
The man in front of me suddenly fell apart, his torso and legs turning into a slick of red and grey on the dirty ground. Another man, wearing similar, baggy clothing but with different colors, came up to me and shouted something at me. I could barely hear him through the thunder roaring in my ears, much less respond coherently. Another person with the same uniform, a woman this time, came into my darkening view.
"Who's the chick? Where the fuck did she come from?"
"I don't know, but she needs a medic right now. And we need to get that goddam airstrike right now, or we're all fucked."
"Sarge can't get to HQ over the radio interference, he's...oh shit. I think I know where she's form. Damn it, she's another one from the Utopia Project."
"Holy shit, you can't be serious. How is that possible? I thought they were all-"
"I don't fucking know why, but lately we've been getting a lot of these poor bastards from UP. Most die, but we might save this one yet. Come on, gimme a hand. Let's get her to Doc."
____________
*Liked that? More stories [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Idreamofdragons/)!* | Fuck this.
I should've never taken that damned pill. "It's for your own good!" they'd all say. I was only 10 when I took that pill, hell, everyone was. In our "perfect" little community, you were given the choice to take the pill and stay, or leave. No one knew what was out there. I sure as hell didn't. So, like everyone else in town, I took the pill. An overwhelming sense of extreme happiness came over me the second I took it. I felt like that for my whole life after that moment. Well, that is until today. I'm 23 now, and a new drug just came out. The drug is called SD-2. Fuck if I know what that means. Well anyways, SD-2 changes those feelings. It makes things... well different I guess. It takes away that feeling of pure joy and bliss and... turns it into something else. I can't get enough of it. Media is saying that SD-2 can take lives within a day after taking it. Many of my friends say its propaganda. I hope what the media says is true. I need to escape. To get away. I need to end it all...
Thanks for reading! Sorry for shitty writing lol. Great prompt tho I loved it!
| |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | I couldn't bring myself to ask Jack what it was for. He was such a nice guy, obviously, and he always had a kind word or a smile. Always ready to lend a hand, that kind of guy. Despite having just mopped the racquetball court with me, he was nothing if not a gracious winner. It just felt rude to ask, and even worse to stare, especially here in the locker room.
"You're curious, I know," he said with a grin tinged with sadness. He pulled his fresh polo onto his shoulders and over his torso. I looked down. I'd been caught. "It's understandable. It's pretty bad, yeah?"
"Worst I've seen, man."
He sighed. "You want to know what I did? What I said?"
"If you want to tell me."
Jack's grin faded as he leaned close. "I do." | She was sitting at one of the booths at the restaurant. When I came over to take her order.
"Have you decided yet or would you like another min?" I asked her.
"Oh." She turns to face me, that's when I see it, half her face is coved a single large scar. She does nothing to hide it. I try not to stare as she tells me her order. I jot it down on the note pad.
Green salad
Burger - MR w/ fries
I glance at it again "do you want anything to drink with that?"
"Ummmm" she says "No, water will be fine."
I tell her the usual half truth, "I will bring your food out soon ish." As I head off would not want to be too specific, I would leave mark. Though nothing like what she must have said to end up with that.
I bring her salad out and ask " Is everything OK with the meal so far?"
"I could use some more water, when you have the chance" she replies.
"Right away" I reply as I head off to get the water pitcher.
Her burger is done before she finishes the salad. I bring it over any way, would not want her food to be cold.
As I serve the burger I ask " Are you still eating?"
She says " no I'm done with the salad, I was just playing with it."
I take the plate and I walk a way. I don't get more than a few steps before I hear her crying behind me.
I turn around and ask "what's wrong?" before I can stop my self.
She smiles and holds up one of the kids toys that come with the childrens meals. "It reminds me of my daughter. She would have loved getting one of these."
"Oh..." I stammer, unsure what to say.
I glance at her scar again. She catches me and holds I contact.
I feel ashamed as I break eye contact and look at me feet.
"It was the only thing I could say to her." she began" That everything would be alright. What are you supposed to tell your children, that their going to die?"
She pause and breaths deeply.
What type of a mother would I be to not conform her? The shards of glass..." She breaks down crying again.
I just stand there, dumbfounded and wait. She stops crying eventually and looks at me.
"I'm sorry" she says, " but could I get the bill?"
I stand there, unsure untill some one taps me on the shoulder. I turn in a suddenly a wear that I was just standing there. It's my manager, he hands me her bill and says something, that I did not catch.
She pays her bill and leaves, and I am there left woundering, would I have done that? Could I have done that? | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | I met Mark in a coffee shop. I couldn't say it was love at first sight, but he was a real head turner, everywhere he went one or two people did a double take. I've never been one for conventional beauty, but my God, his skin. He was in his late 30s, but he had the perfect skin of a newborn child. He didn't have the scratches everyone else our age did. I had never seen a man like him, maybe a few models on billboards, but we all know they take a decently honest man and photoshop him into a saint.
I was intimidated, but just a second after I spoke to him, he interrupted me. He told me he thought I was beautiful, and I knew a man like this couldn't throw that out to every woman he meets. From then on it was like a dream, he was just perfect.
Yet, everywhere we went, I could feel the looming questions. All of them as they turned their heads away, trying to pretend they weren't staring, all thinking "Why her?", "How can someone like him trust someone like her?", or "Relationships like theirs never work". I know because I had thought the same things about similar couples, and never had the difference been so stark.
At first, I laid my makeup on thicker and thicker, every time we went out I felt like I wore a mask. He noticed this, and reassured me it didn't matter what everyone else thought, Mark told me "Mary, this is about us, not them. I trust you. I know your an even better person than I am, a few lies don't make you any less of a person". In time I relaxed my makeup, I even wore less than most people.
I had always been rather conservative, but with him, I was hesitant to get physical for an entirely different reason. I know he said he didn't care about my scars, and I know he believed that, but I feared what he would think when he saw me laid bare, saw the scars that blanketed me. Mostly the little scratches that everyone has, but I had a few nasty ones. I had a 5 inch one across my stomach, that I desperately didn't want him to see, he'd ask me to explain it!
I got it in highschool, a friend I'd had since childhood had mugged a woman, things went wrong and he stabbed her. He ran back to our apartment building and told me the whole thing, how he left her there in the alley, in her own blood. I had known him since we were both four, I couldn't let him go to prison. When the police questioned me, I covered for him, I told them he had spent the whole night with me. When I heard the woman died, my scar ached, it grew longer. He left town not long after that, and I didn't keep in touch, I couldn't handle it. Before he left, I did see his scar. It was awful, it went the whole length of his forearm, not something you saw often, only on the news or on TV.
The idea of Mark seeing me nude terrified me, I told him so. I even asked him if we could do it in the dark, at least the first time. Maybe if he felt my skin before he saw it, then it wouldn't shock him so much. He was silent. He told me not to worry, he told me his skin wasnt perfect. He had a scar too. A scar.
It was supposed to make me feel better, but it only multiplied my self consciousness. Only one scar? That just wasn't possible. He reassured me, he told me no matter how many scars I had, that he wouldn't ask questions, that he would still love me.
I cried there in his arms. I knew he was telling the truth. I don't know how long it was, but with time and his comfort, I calmed down. We moved to the bed, him talking off my shirt. He wasn't fazed at all, by all the blemishes, by the lies of all my 34 years on this earth, more than most.
Then he removed his shirt.
It was terrible. I shouted at the sight of it. It ran from his right shoulder blade to the lower left side of his stomach. It was wide. It was deep. I was shaking, and I saw the hurt in his eyes.
"No, no" he said quickly. "I had a car crash" he said "three years ago".
A car crash? Yes! An injury! It had to be, he couldn't lie, he was the most honest man I had ever met, he never let a mistruth breach his lips. He had to be telling the truth now.
I embraced him. I hugged him tight. I never felt so relieved, I never felt so loved. I knew I had been completed, that I would spend the rest of my life with this man.
We kissed, long and deep. I ran my fingers through his hair and caressed his neck. There I felt it. A roughness. A single tiny scar, just behind his left ear. Had I just not noticed it before? We had only known each other four months, I had not felt every inch of his head. Maybe it was a single lie, from who knows when. Maybe it just another injury, a tiny nick from falling back and hitting his head. Maybe he didn't even know he had it.
We are getting married soon. I haven't asked him about his scar again. I wonder if maybe I should. Maybe I should measure that blemish behind his ear and see if it grows after I ask him.
| She was sitting at one of the booths at the restaurant. When I came over to take her order.
"Have you decided yet or would you like another min?" I asked her.
"Oh." She turns to face me, that's when I see it, half her face is coved a single large scar. She does nothing to hide it. I try not to stare as she tells me her order. I jot it down on the note pad.
Green salad
Burger - MR w/ fries
I glance at it again "do you want anything to drink with that?"
"Ummmm" she says "No, water will be fine."
I tell her the usual half truth, "I will bring your food out soon ish." As I head off would not want to be too specific, I would leave mark. Though nothing like what she must have said to end up with that.
I bring her salad out and ask " Is everything OK with the meal so far?"
"I could use some more water, when you have the chance" she replies.
"Right away" I reply as I head off to get the water pitcher.
Her burger is done before she finishes the salad. I bring it over any way, would not want her food to be cold.
As I serve the burger I ask " Are you still eating?"
She says " no I'm done with the salad, I was just playing with it."
I take the plate and I walk a way. I don't get more than a few steps before I hear her crying behind me.
I turn around and ask "what's wrong?" before I can stop my self.
She smiles and holds up one of the kids toys that come with the childrens meals. "It reminds me of my daughter. She would have loved getting one of these."
"Oh..." I stammer, unsure what to say.
I glance at her scar again. She catches me and holds I contact.
I feel ashamed as I break eye contact and look at me feet.
"It was the only thing I could say to her." she began" That everything would be alright. What are you supposed to tell your children, that their going to die?"
She pause and breaths deeply.
What type of a mother would I be to not conform her? The shards of glass..." She breaks down crying again.
I just stand there, dumbfounded and wait. She stops crying eventually and looks at me.
"I'm sorry" she says, " but could I get the bill?"
I stand there, unsure untill some one taps me on the shoulder. I turn in a suddenly a wear that I was just standing there. It's my manager, he hands me her bill and says something, that I did not catch.
She pays her bill and leaves, and I am there left woundering, would I have done that? Could I have done that? | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | She said: "I'm Catholic, and for my first confession we were herded before the priest and told to tell him our sins. At seven years old, I knew I had to make something up or be punished for the sin of Satan, Pride."
That was the only time I couldn't tell the truth so, "'I'm a liar,'" I lied. | She was sitting at one of the booths at the restaurant. When I came over to take her order.
"Have you decided yet or would you like another min?" I asked her.
"Oh." She turns to face me, that's when I see it, half her face is coved a single large scar. She does nothing to hide it. I try not to stare as she tells me her order. I jot it down on the note pad.
Green salad
Burger - MR w/ fries
I glance at it again "do you want anything to drink with that?"
"Ummmm" she says "No, water will be fine."
I tell her the usual half truth, "I will bring your food out soon ish." As I head off would not want to be too specific, I would leave mark. Though nothing like what she must have said to end up with that.
I bring her salad out and ask " Is everything OK with the meal so far?"
"I could use some more water, when you have the chance" she replies.
"Right away" I reply as I head off to get the water pitcher.
Her burger is done before she finishes the salad. I bring it over any way, would not want her food to be cold.
As I serve the burger I ask " Are you still eating?"
She says " no I'm done with the salad, I was just playing with it."
I take the plate and I walk a way. I don't get more than a few steps before I hear her crying behind me.
I turn around and ask "what's wrong?" before I can stop my self.
She smiles and holds up one of the kids toys that come with the childrens meals. "It reminds me of my daughter. She would have loved getting one of these."
"Oh..." I stammer, unsure what to say.
I glance at her scar again. She catches me and holds I contact.
I feel ashamed as I break eye contact and look at me feet.
"It was the only thing I could say to her." she began" That everything would be alright. What are you supposed to tell your children, that their going to die?"
She pause and breaths deeply.
What type of a mother would I be to not conform her? The shards of glass..." She breaks down crying again.
I just stand there, dumbfounded and wait. She stops crying eventually and looks at me.
"I'm sorry" she says, " but could I get the bill?"
I stand there, unsure untill some one taps me on the shoulder. I turn in a suddenly a wear that I was just standing there. It's my manager, he hands me her bill and says something, that I did not catch.
She pays her bill and leaves, and I am there left woundering, would I have done that? Could I have done that? | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | I live in a world when you lie you get a scar. The bigger the scar, the worse the lie. I apparently was in an accident a year ago and now I can't remember things that well. So there I am at the store and I see this girl with one extremely large and deep looking scar. I figured I should go ask her what she said because it seems interesting there was only one lie. So I asked her and she said she used to be my wife. She couldn't look me in the eye and she said it was "I love you."
Edit: Yes I know someone else did something similar to this. Just saying before downvotes happen. | She was sitting at one of the booths at the restaurant. When I came over to take her order.
"Have you decided yet or would you like another min?" I asked her.
"Oh." She turns to face me, that's when I see it, half her face is coved a single large scar. She does nothing to hide it. I try not to stare as she tells me her order. I jot it down on the note pad.
Green salad
Burger - MR w/ fries
I glance at it again "do you want anything to drink with that?"
"Ummmm" she says "No, water will be fine."
I tell her the usual half truth, "I will bring your food out soon ish." As I head off would not want to be too specific, I would leave mark. Though nothing like what she must have said to end up with that.
I bring her salad out and ask " Is everything OK with the meal so far?"
"I could use some more water, when you have the chance" she replies.
"Right away" I reply as I head off to get the water pitcher.
Her burger is done before she finishes the salad. I bring it over any way, would not want her food to be cold.
As I serve the burger I ask " Are you still eating?"
She says " no I'm done with the salad, I was just playing with it."
I take the plate and I walk a way. I don't get more than a few steps before I hear her crying behind me.
I turn around and ask "what's wrong?" before I can stop my self.
She smiles and holds up one of the kids toys that come with the childrens meals. "It reminds me of my daughter. She would have loved getting one of these."
"Oh..." I stammer, unsure what to say.
I glance at her scar again. She catches me and holds I contact.
I feel ashamed as I break eye contact and look at me feet.
"It was the only thing I could say to her." she began" That everything would be alright. What are you supposed to tell your children, that their going to die?"
She pause and breaths deeply.
What type of a mother would I be to not conform her? The shards of glass..." She breaks down crying again.
I just stand there, dumbfounded and wait. She stops crying eventually and looks at me.
"I'm sorry" she says, " but could I get the bill?"
I stand there, unsure untill some one taps me on the shoulder. I turn in a suddenly a wear that I was just standing there. It's my manager, he hands me her bill and says something, that I did not catch.
She pays her bill and leaves, and I am there left woundering, would I have done that? Could I have done that? | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | "Mr. Graves, are you certain your client has been telling the truth?" The voice of the judge cut through the room. I glanced up from my papers, and stood up, taking off my gloves and scarf.
The jury panel gasped a little bit when they saw my unscarred face and hands. More than a few looked jealous, but most merely looked impressed. I nodded. Good. I had affixed myself as a person who told the truth in their mind.
My client, meanwhile, was a mass of scars. They marred his face, hands, neck, biceps. A few of them were deep and ugly. He was staring at his handcuffed hands, looking despondent.
I cleared my throat. "Yes, your honor. And I intend to prove not only to you, but to the men and women of the jury that the evidence the state has not does not prove my client's innocence, but that the evidence proves his innocence!"
The jury mumbled amongst themselves as I launched into my opening statement.
---
"Thank you, Mr. Graves," my client said, grinning in my office, wearing his ratty yet comfortable clothes once again. "I thought I'd be locked up for good, but you... you pulled off a miracle. "
I smiled a little, straightening my posture and linking my fingers on the desk. "It wasn't me, Mr. Williams. It was your testimony that made the most compelling argument."
Williams smiled, the scars on his face stretching and distorting.
"Mr. Graves, you're a godsend. I can never thank you enough. I'm going to go and try and pull my life together."
There. A small little slice, right by his ear. It wasn't much, and he didn't notice it, and I didn't stare. No one deserved to be caught, especially in the lies they tell themselves.
Mr. Williams thanked me profusely, continued to make that same promise that tore open that scar a little more each time, then left.
When he was gone, I once again stood in the mirror in my office. I unbuttoned my shirt, allowing myself a wince as I opened the shirt a bit further. Yep, it was still there. The one scar that I had from telling myself the lie. The biggest lie I had ever told, and it was the only reason I was still around.
I took a deep breath, looked myself dead in the mirror, and mouthed the lie to myself.
The pain lanced through me as the scar re-opened once again, starting at my collarbone, opening up through my stomach, curling around my belly button, and immediately soaking my pant leg with blood as it ended somewhere in my inner thigh.
The pain had been enough to knock me out the first time I had told that lie. My parents had rushed me to the hospital. Now, all I did was grunt, set my teeth, and reach for the suture kit on the counter in front of me.
That lie hurt, even more each time I said it. But I had to let myself know I was okay. Even if it was a lie. | She was sitting at one of the booths at the restaurant. When I came over to take her order.
"Have you decided yet or would you like another min?" I asked her.
"Oh." She turns to face me, that's when I see it, half her face is coved a single large scar. She does nothing to hide it. I try not to stare as she tells me her order. I jot it down on the note pad.
Green salad
Burger - MR w/ fries
I glance at it again "do you want anything to drink with that?"
"Ummmm" she says "No, water will be fine."
I tell her the usual half truth, "I will bring your food out soon ish." As I head off would not want to be too specific, I would leave mark. Though nothing like what she must have said to end up with that.
I bring her salad out and ask " Is everything OK with the meal so far?"
"I could use some more water, when you have the chance" she replies.
"Right away" I reply as I head off to get the water pitcher.
Her burger is done before she finishes the salad. I bring it over any way, would not want her food to be cold.
As I serve the burger I ask " Are you still eating?"
She says " no I'm done with the salad, I was just playing with it."
I take the plate and I walk a way. I don't get more than a few steps before I hear her crying behind me.
I turn around and ask "what's wrong?" before I can stop my self.
She smiles and holds up one of the kids toys that come with the childrens meals. "It reminds me of my daughter. She would have loved getting one of these."
"Oh..." I stammer, unsure what to say.
I glance at her scar again. She catches me and holds I contact.
I feel ashamed as I break eye contact and look at me feet.
"It was the only thing I could say to her." she began" That everything would be alright. What are you supposed to tell your children, that their going to die?"
She pause and breaths deeply.
What type of a mother would I be to not conform her? The shards of glass..." She breaks down crying again.
I just stand there, dumbfounded and wait. She stops crying eventually and looks at me.
"I'm sorry" she says, " but could I get the bill?"
I stand there, unsure untill some one taps me on the shoulder. I turn in a suddenly a wear that I was just standing there. It's my manager, he hands me her bill and says something, that I did not catch.
She pays her bill and leaves, and I am there left woundering, would I have done that? Could I have done that? | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | We lived side by side spending our days joined at the hips so much so people thought we were brothers. My skin was covered in them by the time I was 12 while he hadn’t got a single mark yet, I was slightly envious of his clear skin that impressed people for a boy his age. When I asked him how he did it, he simply shrugged and said anything was possible with a slight grin. His vague reply made me more jealous, sure I lied more than most kids my age but most of the lies were petty and insignificant that I didn’t think twice about. Plus, the marks I got didn’t hurt one bit so it just sorta added up after a while.
Then childhood ended and I moved away right before I started high-school. We didn’t really keep in contact with each other like how most kids promise but never do. It wasn’t any different with us, by the time my 20s came around he was just a hazy childhood friend I had all but forgotten about.
It was blistering hot that day, too hot to wear anything but short sleeves and pants. I hated wearing those types of clothes, while most people’s scars were skinny and faded into their skin. Mine had become more gashed and discolored as I grew older, I was one of the unlucky ones whose skin healed badly to these marks. Just genetics they told me.
I was walking back from the bus stop when I saw him in front of me, his clear pale skin devoid of any scars got my attention first before I saw his face. When I looked up at his face that’s when I recognized him, I called out his name and waved slightly at him. His face looked blank for a moment before lighting up in recognition as well. His pasty lips smiled at me and called me over, while we caught up all I could notice was how unblemished his arms and legs looked. Scars usually showed up first on your limbs before covering your whole body.
He must have noticed my gawking and laughed a bit before telling me to not trust your first impressions. I was confused by what he meant, but when I asked he just smiled a bit wider.
“Ben, I was actually kind of happy you were jealous of me when we were younger. In a way, I was just lucky they showed up in places where no one noticed.” He said to me, before turning his back and walking away before I could reply.
I noticed a painful red looking scar peeking out from the back of his neck and drops of red starting to stain his white shirt.
| She was sitting at one of the booths at the restaurant. When I came over to take her order.
"Have you decided yet or would you like another min?" I asked her.
"Oh." She turns to face me, that's when I see it, half her face is coved a single large scar. She does nothing to hide it. I try not to stare as she tells me her order. I jot it down on the note pad.
Green salad
Burger - MR w/ fries
I glance at it again "do you want anything to drink with that?"
"Ummmm" she says "No, water will be fine."
I tell her the usual half truth, "I will bring your food out soon ish." As I head off would not want to be too specific, I would leave mark. Though nothing like what she must have said to end up with that.
I bring her salad out and ask " Is everything OK with the meal so far?"
"I could use some more water, when you have the chance" she replies.
"Right away" I reply as I head off to get the water pitcher.
Her burger is done before she finishes the salad. I bring it over any way, would not want her food to be cold.
As I serve the burger I ask " Are you still eating?"
She says " no I'm done with the salad, I was just playing with it."
I take the plate and I walk a way. I don't get more than a few steps before I hear her crying behind me.
I turn around and ask "what's wrong?" before I can stop my self.
She smiles and holds up one of the kids toys that come with the childrens meals. "It reminds me of my daughter. She would have loved getting one of these."
"Oh..." I stammer, unsure what to say.
I glance at her scar again. She catches me and holds I contact.
I feel ashamed as I break eye contact and look at me feet.
"It was the only thing I could say to her." she began" That everything would be alright. What are you supposed to tell your children, that their going to die?"
She pause and breaths deeply.
What type of a mother would I be to not conform her? The shards of glass..." She breaks down crying again.
I just stand there, dumbfounded and wait. She stops crying eventually and looks at me.
"I'm sorry" she says, " but could I get the bill?"
I stand there, unsure untill some one taps me on the shoulder. I turn in a suddenly a wear that I was just standing there. It's my manager, he hands me her bill and says something, that I did not catch.
She pays her bill and leaves, and I am there left woundering, would I have done that? Could I have done that? | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | We met at a bar one evening. She had a beer in her hand, something local on tap, about half-drained. We struck up some conversation - weather or sports or some such, I don't remember, small talk though. She made some passing comment about liking my ears, and I almost brushed it off as false praise - I think they stick out a bit too much - before I noticed her smooth skin; not a single scar visible.
I had my own fair share of lies cut into my skin - most minor, a few major. Even the bigger ones I'd usually defend, outside of a big one on my arm. "I've been clean for a year!". Even so, that's the least regretful mistake from that part of my life - I'm proud to say I can say that line now without the scar growing larger.
I got her name - Jane - and later, her number. We ended up setting up a date for the following weekend, and hit it off quickly. Similar interests - hiking, video games, cooking... Well, mostly same interests, anyway. I remember her coy smile when I said I liked her Coltrane collection, and a line of skin on my forearm darkened. Can't stand jazz, really.
I thought for about a month that she was perfectly honest, until we went to bed together. Jane seemed reluctant to take off her shirt, but that same honesty that kept her skin smooth must have demanded she not cover up now - her bra came off, and across the inside of her left breast was the deepest scar that I've ever seen. It wasn't a discoloration like most scars - it was like a knotted rope was underneath the skin.
It wasn't the sort of thing you can comment on lightly, but at the same time, it would be more conspicuous to ignore it. She was clearly distressed, waiting for my reaction. I wasn't sure what to say, but we were both naked at that point so there was no hoping that a lie would be covered up by clothing.
"There's obviously a story here, and I'm curious, but... Right now, it's not important. I'm willing to wait until you're willing to tell me on your own terms" I said, and punctuated the sentence with a kiss. She ran a hand through my short hair, and the encounter continued naturally after that. But frankly the details are none of your business.
It was another six months before I learned any more details about that scar of hers. We were quite serious by now, and I'd had plenty of opportunities to see it again at this point.
Jane told me that her parents were going to be coming by for Thanksgiving, and that she wanted me to be there. Her face was strangely tense, and when I pressed for information, she just said that she didn't feel up for explaining. What could I say to that? So, I didn't press the issue, and waited for Thursday to roll around.
Her parents showed up - her mother was a frumpy sort of woman, with a flowery dress, and her father was tall, but had a thick neck and a double chin. I was surprised the two of them could have produced such a beautiful daughter, but all the same I could see some resemblance, particularly in the eyes and nose.
The first thing I heard her father say - before even "hello" - was right after he jerked a thumb in my direction. "Is this that friend of yours? She looks like a fucking dyke." Her mother agreed emphatically. I found myself dumbstruck, unable to respond. Jane laughed uncomfortably, but her father didn't seem to notice - he was sniffing the air.
"Turkey's already on, eh? Surprised you haven't caught yourself a husband yet, with your cooking. Hah!"
"No luck yet, but I'm sure I'll find one one of these days." Jane replied with a weak smile, clearly hiding a wince as the scar above her heart wrought its way deeper into her skin. | She was sitting at one of the booths at the restaurant. When I came over to take her order.
"Have you decided yet or would you like another min?" I asked her.
"Oh." She turns to face me, that's when I see it, half her face is coved a single large scar. She does nothing to hide it. I try not to stare as she tells me her order. I jot it down on the note pad.
Green salad
Burger - MR w/ fries
I glance at it again "do you want anything to drink with that?"
"Ummmm" she says "No, water will be fine."
I tell her the usual half truth, "I will bring your food out soon ish." As I head off would not want to be too specific, I would leave mark. Though nothing like what she must have said to end up with that.
I bring her salad out and ask " Is everything OK with the meal so far?"
"I could use some more water, when you have the chance" she replies.
"Right away" I reply as I head off to get the water pitcher.
Her burger is done before she finishes the salad. I bring it over any way, would not want her food to be cold.
As I serve the burger I ask " Are you still eating?"
She says " no I'm done with the salad, I was just playing with it."
I take the plate and I walk a way. I don't get more than a few steps before I hear her crying behind me.
I turn around and ask "what's wrong?" before I can stop my self.
She smiles and holds up one of the kids toys that come with the childrens meals. "It reminds me of my daughter. She would have loved getting one of these."
"Oh..." I stammer, unsure what to say.
I glance at her scar again. She catches me and holds I contact.
I feel ashamed as I break eye contact and look at me feet.
"It was the only thing I could say to her." she began" That everything would be alright. What are you supposed to tell your children, that their going to die?"
She pause and breaths deeply.
What type of a mother would I be to not conform her? The shards of glass..." She breaks down crying again.
I just stand there, dumbfounded and wait. She stops crying eventually and looks at me.
"I'm sorry" she says, " but could I get the bill?"
I stand there, unsure untill some one taps me on the shoulder. I turn in a suddenly a wear that I was just standing there. It's my manager, he hands me her bill and says something, that I did not catch.
She pays her bill and leaves, and I am there left woundering, would I have done that? Could I have done that? | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be.
What did they do?
What did they lie about?
In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people.
I knew lying was wrong, most of the time.
But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you.
You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time.
You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened: You lied.
It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder; Can I trust you?
Trust?
What was trust in this world?
The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne.
You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true.
But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer?
It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold.
You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be.
It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar.
We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away.
We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed.
We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear.
But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back.
The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder.
When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know.
Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off.
Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze.
"What do you want?" he asked.
And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar.
"Nothing". | She was sitting at one of the booths at the restaurant. When I came over to take her order.
"Have you decided yet or would you like another min?" I asked her.
"Oh." She turns to face me, that's when I see it, half her face is coved a single large scar. She does nothing to hide it. I try not to stare as she tells me her order. I jot it down on the note pad.
Green salad
Burger - MR w/ fries
I glance at it again "do you want anything to drink with that?"
"Ummmm" she says "No, water will be fine."
I tell her the usual half truth, "I will bring your food out soon ish." As I head off would not want to be too specific, I would leave mark. Though nothing like what she must have said to end up with that.
I bring her salad out and ask " Is everything OK with the meal so far?"
"I could use some more water, when you have the chance" she replies.
"Right away" I reply as I head off to get the water pitcher.
Her burger is done before she finishes the salad. I bring it over any way, would not want her food to be cold.
As I serve the burger I ask " Are you still eating?"
She says " no I'm done with the salad, I was just playing with it."
I take the plate and I walk a way. I don't get more than a few steps before I hear her crying behind me.
I turn around and ask "what's wrong?" before I can stop my self.
She smiles and holds up one of the kids toys that come with the childrens meals. "It reminds me of my daughter. She would have loved getting one of these."
"Oh..." I stammer, unsure what to say.
I glance at her scar again. She catches me and holds I contact.
I feel ashamed as I break eye contact and look at me feet.
"It was the only thing I could say to her." she began" That everything would be alright. What are you supposed to tell your children, that their going to die?"
She pause and breaths deeply.
What type of a mother would I be to not conform her? The shards of glass..." She breaks down crying again.
I just stand there, dumbfounded and wait. She stops crying eventually and looks at me.
"I'm sorry" she says, " but could I get the bill?"
I stand there, unsure untill some one taps me on the shoulder. I turn in a suddenly a wear that I was just standing there. It's my manager, he hands me her bill and says something, that I did not catch.
She pays her bill and leaves, and I am there left woundering, would I have done that? Could I have done that? | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | It was the middle of the January, one of the better times to lie if you had to. In the cold winter months, you could get away with hiding your secrets under an oversized, baggy sweater. There just enough snow in the air that to make the sky seem to sparkle, but it was nothing compared to the sparkle in her piercing green eyes when they first made contact with mine. I swear, it was love at first sight.
Her hair was close cut, its raven black color a stark contrast to the white world which framed it. Her cheeks and nose had a splash of red from the cold. Fuzzy earmuffs, slightly oversized on her head, enveloped her ears. The cold steam of her breath escaped in short bursts from thin, pursed lips. She turned toward me a bit, wrapping her puffy red coat snugly around her body and drawing her arms over her chest for warmth. Skinny black jeans, the kind that showed off just enough of her curves, ran down into pristine white boots, the soles of which were almost obscured by the thin layer of snow on the ground.
In short, she was perfect.
Before I realized what I was doing, I hid my hands in my coat pockets self-consciously. I cursed myself for not having the foresight to wear gloves. Most of mine show up on my hands, and seeing all of them up front tends to give people the wrong first impression. See, the Scars have something of a twisted sense of humor. You tell a lie about some action you've taken, you get a scar on your arms or hands; tell a lie about somewhere you've been, you get a scar on your legs or feet; tell a lie about what you think, you get a scar somewhere on your head. Medical experts have been studying the scars for as far back as anyone can remember, but the best science can tell us is that they just... happen. For all science knows, the world could be home to legions of overly vigilant, painfully ironic fairies wielding pocket knives.
Gathering my courage, I unzipped my coat and started walking in her direction. I nearly stopped myself and turned away a couple of times, but I'd promised myself long ago to always be truthful to my feelings. Nonetheless, I stalled awkwardly when I came close. Her green eyes watching me, the smell of her perfume drifting over to me, the cold wind blowing against my shirt...
I took a deep breath. I probably looked like an idiot. But, now was not the time to panic. I laid my heart out on the line, in more ways than one. I told her she was one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen, and that if she would allow me the opportunity, I wanted to take her somewhere special. That might seem a bit direct, but it helps your case a lot when a girl can simply watch your chest to see if your feelings are genuine. Sure enough, no bloodstain appeared. She looked down at the snowy ground, her cheeks growing even more red in the cold weather.
"Alright," she said, her lips teasing into a slight smile. "What did you have in mind?"
Good question. What did I have in mind?
We ended up in a nearby restaurant, though I can't for the life of me remember how. I got really lucky is probably the best answer. As we took our seats in the booth, she took off her outer jacket, revealing a white sweater underneath. I didn't think anything of it at first.
Slowly, as if unsure of herself, she unzipped the sweater too and pulled it down her arms, not fully off but not quite on either. Beneath it, she was wearing a rather tight shirt which revealed her slender arms and the fair skin of her midriff. I was caught completely off-guard by her drastic change of apparel. She shivered a bit and rubber her shoulders.
I sat there speechless, transfixed by her beauty. Her skin was so... perfect. Not a single scar marred her arms, her stomach, her neck, or anything. I realized I must have been staring, and turned a way just a bit too quickly.
"It's okay," she said softly, pulling her coat back on. "I wanted you to see that, since... I mean, you were so up front with me and... but not in a bad way, and... I guess I could've just told you outright..." She stared at the table a bit too pointedly.
I smiled to myself. At least I wasn't the only one who was bad at this.
...
That was three years ago, back when life was so much simpler. Back before the diagnosis, before the painful treatments which dragged on into weeks and then months. Before we learned about the cancer that was eating away, slowly but surely, at her brain.
The doctors told us nothing could be done. They could treat her, give her drugs to ease the suffering and ultimately the transition, but she was never going to get better. They said she would be... gone... within a few months. I stared at them like a hawk as they spoke, scrutinizing every inch of skin as I processed each sentence, but no Scars came. It was the truth.
We were both left to ask why it had to be her.
She grew irritable and lashed out, though I could hardly blame her. They said it was pressing on her brain, altering her mood and her thoughts. I'm not ashamed to admit that I bawled my eyes out when I first heard the news. But I had to be strong, I had to keep going. I had to be a rock, no matter how hard that would be.
As her time in the hospital grew, so did the doses they gave her. On one of her worse nights, I sat there with her as she tried to process all the built up frustration. I could see in her eyes that she didn't fully recognize me, a look I would never grow used to.
With no other outlet, she turned it on me.
"Why did this have to happen?" she suddenly screamed at me, choking back a sob. Tears streamed down her cheeks. "I... I hate you!"
For a moment, neither of us said anything. We sat in near silence, interrupted only by the occasional sob. I watched her somberly, not daring to react. And that's when I saw it.
A large pool of blood soaked into her hospital gown, just above her heart. The only Scar she would ever have.
...
Thanks for reading!
-ShutainzuGeito | She was sitting at one of the booths at the restaurant. When I came over to take her order.
"Have you decided yet or would you like another min?" I asked her.
"Oh." She turns to face me, that's when I see it, half her face is coved a single large scar. She does nothing to hide it. I try not to stare as she tells me her order. I jot it down on the note pad.
Green salad
Burger - MR w/ fries
I glance at it again "do you want anything to drink with that?"
"Ummmm" she says "No, water will be fine."
I tell her the usual half truth, "I will bring your food out soon ish." As I head off would not want to be too specific, I would leave mark. Though nothing like what she must have said to end up with that.
I bring her salad out and ask " Is everything OK with the meal so far?"
"I could use some more water, when you have the chance" she replies.
"Right away" I reply as I head off to get the water pitcher.
Her burger is done before she finishes the salad. I bring it over any way, would not want her food to be cold.
As I serve the burger I ask " Are you still eating?"
She says " no I'm done with the salad, I was just playing with it."
I take the plate and I walk a way. I don't get more than a few steps before I hear her crying behind me.
I turn around and ask "what's wrong?" before I can stop my self.
She smiles and holds up one of the kids toys that come with the childrens meals. "It reminds me of my daughter. She would have loved getting one of these."
"Oh..." I stammer, unsure what to say.
I glance at her scar again. She catches me and holds I contact.
I feel ashamed as I break eye contact and look at me feet.
"It was the only thing I could say to her." she began" That everything would be alright. What are you supposed to tell your children, that their going to die?"
She pause and breaths deeply.
What type of a mother would I be to not conform her? The shards of glass..." She breaks down crying again.
I just stand there, dumbfounded and wait. She stops crying eventually and looks at me.
"I'm sorry" she says, " but could I get the bill?"
I stand there, unsure untill some one taps me on the shoulder. I turn in a suddenly a wear that I was just standing there. It's my manager, he hands me her bill and says something, that I did not catch.
She pays her bill and leaves, and I am there left woundering, would I have done that? Could I have done that? | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | "Anything else?" the waitress asked me, as she smacked a cup of coffee on the table somewhat carelessly. I think her name was Darla. I shook my head a bit and watched her saunter back to the counter out of the corner of my eye. I knew she had judged me from the moment she saw me. She had given me the same look most everyone else does. It's funny how someone marked and nicked with little white scars on her hands and arms and neck and legs can look down on me for having more of them. To be fair to - whatever her name was... - Darla- ...to be fair to Darla, and to everyone else, I do have lots and lots of little scars. I looked out to the window to my right at a lamp post that illuminated the darkened streets. This was as asleep as the city gets at night.
I started my scar collection as a kid. My mother meant well and might've been a decent parent if she didn't spend her days swigging vodka. My dad was never in the picture. A military man, apparently, who had to move to a base in Europe before I was born, although looking back I'm sure that wasn't true. My mother, now she had a lot of scars. A scar for every time she was going to quit drinking and "do right by me."
The first scar I remember scratching its way onto my skin was when I was probably four or five. My teacher had asked me if I was going to be ok. My mother hadn't come to pick me up which was a semi-frequent event, and I had gotten up to walk home - I lived a 20-minute walk or so away from the school so it wasn't a problem for me. He asked me if I was going to have dinner at home, and I lied. I told him we were having company over and my mom probably just lost track of time cooking this big meal for us all. I don't even know why I lied about it because it was a pointless lie, but I felt the sting on the back of my shoulder as the words left my lips.
Over the years the lies I told people, the lies I told my mother created a tapestry of scar tissue across my body. Sometimes I just wanted to get away from the house and I'd tell her I was staying with a friend. The marks were inconsequential to me.
I'm a journalist now - a failed one - there's no use lying to you. It's funny really because none of my scars ever came from anything I've ever written. I'm stupid; I use my lies on bullshit, instead of making money.
I looked down at my coffee and heard Darla telling a couple large patrons at the counter that she was planning on going back to school soon. I wondered if she got a scar for that or if she really meant it. It didn't really matter to me. I'm not interested in the lies people tell others. That's easy. It's recorded in the history of your body like the rings of a tree and even though they fade over time, more will always take their place - we can't help ourselves. No, what interests me are the lies people tell themselves. When people put makeup over their scars to cover up as many as they can, do they look into the mirror and pretend they are honest?
A bell rang as the door opened. I glanced to my left and saw a young man walk in. And I froze.
"Go ahead and sit where you'd like," Darla yelled out cheerily. "I'll be with you in just a sec."
The newcomer walked towards a back booth, and my eyes stayed fixed on him the entire time. His skin was unmarred by any scar or blemish. I had looked over his face and neck and forearms, and not a mark there was on them. Bullshit. Everyone lies. That is the only consistent truth I have ever known, and I've known that as far back as my memory extends. Everyone is a liar - that is a universal truth. It's the universal truth. I found myself rising out of my seat. My feet carried me towards the man in the back, quickening with each step. My heart pounded.
"Let me see your arms," I managed to squeeze out as I gripped his arm and turned it. My voice was nervous. I quickly jumped to the other arms and hurriedly looked it over. I rubbed his arm spastically to remove any makeup - but there was nothing. I looked up at his face. His eyes were those of a deer's caught in a headlight. What I was doing was crazy, I knew that. I had grabbed a random stranger but he couldn't be this honest. It wasn't possible.
"Where are your scars?" I demanded. He was still taken aback. "Where are they?" I repeated a little more forcefully.
"I- what scars?" he stammered out.
I felt a surge of anger rise up in me.
"Where are your fucking scars!" I yelled at the man and grabbed his shirt at his shoulders. His shocked silence only made me angrier. In an instant, I whipped his shirt up and dumbfoundedly stepped back. The entire front of his torso was one giant mass of scarred flesh.
"How are they all there?" I breathed out. "That can't be from one lie..."
He looked hurt.
"There was an accident," he said dejectedly.
"Bullshit!" I shot back. That was a lie everyone with an exceptional scar tried to get away with. That it wasn't from a lie, but some physical injury instead. I'd heard that one before. Sometimes a new mark was worth keeping the truth in the dark. But there was no new mark. I scanned over his body.
"How did that happen?"
"It was an accident!" he retorted, anger now growing in his voice. "There was a fire in my building! People died...and I was lucky enough to only be left with this at the end of the night."
I looked over his body and watched as no new scars carved their way in. He threw his shirt back down and was clearly angry now. I stepped backward. The diner was silent. I could feel everyone's eyes on me. The man I accosted threw some money on the table and slid out of his booth. He moved passed me and I watched as the only honest man I had ever known walked out of the door. I was brought crashing back down to reality. I glanced towards the counter and saw the two patrons and the waitress staring at me. I walked back to my table and left some money there before walking out the door. I made it a few steps down the sidewalk before my legs went weak. I sat down on the curb and cried.
It was only six months later when I saw the man's face again. This time on the news. His name was Robert Lewis, and he had been arrested for arson. He had set a fire in his apartment building that apparently grew out of control and wound up killing six people and sending dozens more to the hospital. He had been found there lying in the smoke by first responders. But here's the kicker. He hadn't suffered any burns when they found him. That scar only appeared after he had been questioned about the fire by a couple other firefighters before the cops even spoke to him. It took them a couple weeks to realize what happened and then months to find the guy.
Everyone is a liar. He was just better at telling half truths.
Edit: Grammatical | She was sitting at one of the booths at the restaurant. When I came over to take her order.
"Have you decided yet or would you like another min?" I asked her.
"Oh." She turns to face me, that's when I see it, half her face is coved a single large scar. She does nothing to hide it. I try not to stare as she tells me her order. I jot it down on the note pad.
Green salad
Burger - MR w/ fries
I glance at it again "do you want anything to drink with that?"
"Ummmm" she says "No, water will be fine."
I tell her the usual half truth, "I will bring your food out soon ish." As I head off would not want to be too specific, I would leave mark. Though nothing like what she must have said to end up with that.
I bring her salad out and ask " Is everything OK with the meal so far?"
"I could use some more water, when you have the chance" she replies.
"Right away" I reply as I head off to get the water pitcher.
Her burger is done before she finishes the salad. I bring it over any way, would not want her food to be cold.
As I serve the burger I ask " Are you still eating?"
She says " no I'm done with the salad, I was just playing with it."
I take the plate and I walk a way. I don't get more than a few steps before I hear her crying behind me.
I turn around and ask "what's wrong?" before I can stop my self.
She smiles and holds up one of the kids toys that come with the childrens meals. "It reminds me of my daughter. She would have loved getting one of these."
"Oh..." I stammer, unsure what to say.
I glance at her scar again. She catches me and holds I contact.
I feel ashamed as I break eye contact and look at me feet.
"It was the only thing I could say to her." she began" That everything would be alright. What are you supposed to tell your children, that their going to die?"
She pause and breaths deeply.
What type of a mother would I be to not conform her? The shards of glass..." She breaks down crying again.
I just stand there, dumbfounded and wait. She stops crying eventually and looks at me.
"I'm sorry" she says, " but could I get the bill?"
I stand there, unsure untill some one taps me on the shoulder. I turn in a suddenly a wear that I was just standing there. It's my manager, he hands me her bill and says something, that I did not catch.
She pays her bill and leaves, and I am there left woundering, would I have done that? Could I have done that? | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | It's a mad world
Nowadays you are asked to take your clothes off in a job interview for god's sake, even in court in some countries, I mean come on sometimes you actually need to lie goddamnit sometimes it actually does some real good but it literally scars you for life...
I have my fair number of scars, mostly very light ones , I can take my shirt off when I go to the beach without most of them showing , heck I can have sex with a girl and they won't notice most, the more necessary you felt that the lie was the better hidden the scar is, so most of mine are in addition to very light on ... convenient spots. I have scars on the back of my thighs, I have two behind my ears, I have some on my armpits . I once heard of a guy who had one on his penis , it turns out how you feel about the lie makes a huge difference in what scar it will leave you and where, just imagine that guy getting undressed in front of a woman , or man whatever he is into anyway. Well at least some girls say scars are sexy, or so I’ve heard.
You do get used to it but still... I once had a pretty long conversation with a war veteran about scars , now that was scarring. He took he shirt off to show me his body he was FULL. I first noticed two bullets scars , didn't think I could recognize them but damn do they look different. The bullet scars though , they were nice compared to the rest , they were in battle defending his country but the rest of his body was more scar tissue than actual skin, there were spots where I couldn't even make out how many scars he had. They formed one big pile of butchered up skin. During our conversation I found out that he actually got all the visible scars he had on his upper body in a single week , he was taken as a prisoner of war and trust me , the only countries that actually give even a single flying fuck about the Geneva convention are the ones that have already won the war. Long story short , pretty much all the scars were from the lies he told trying to lead the enemies away while they were torturing him instead of giving them real information , it's mad how they can torture you into treachery without leaving a scar on your body. It is true though , EVERYONE breaks given enough time.
The war veteran story is my go-to example on why we shouldn't judge people by their scars. There is a whole other story that I just can't get myself to tell. Too goddamn sad , well probably not so when you just hear it as a story but you were not there talking with him you did not see the sorrow and the chaos on his face.
His name was George. In my country he have to serve in the military , mandatory service . The military of course is purely defensive and the service is easier than professional militaries naturally. George was pretty much the nicest guy we all knew , he would never even lie. There had been a few occasions where others were mad at him because he would tell our officers about anything they asked and being the military there were consequences , he really , actually never lied. We also noticed after a couple of months that even though most would get out of bath completely naked since we were only men, he would get in and out always wearing a t-shirt, and whenever he had to change his t-shirt without taking a bath he hid, went to the bathroom or was alone someway. We all wondered but we thought that he just lied without us noticing and wanted to hide his scars , all the others still believe that but I know.
George and I became friends over time. We would go out for a drink , we would even go to the gym or for a run together sometimes. The park where we run was closer to his home so one day when it started raining he told me to come take a shower at his place, he'd lend me some clothes and drive me home. He let me get in to take a shower first. I got in finished my shower and got out, he went in right after me. Seconds after he got in I realized a left my shoes in the bathroom and I sweat a lot so my shoes get smelly so I wanted to get them to the balcony. Being used to it from my service, who we had both finished some months prior to that day, where we didn't really care if someone saw us naked I just opened the door and went in without knocking. God I wish I hadn't.
I saw George's back as he was getting in the shower, he just froze as he saw the awe in my face when I stared at his single scar, one single scar in the entirety of his body , it was a huge scar spanning diagonally on his whole back , it was so large it reminded me of video game characters , and so deep I thought it was see-through where the skin met the spine. I just looked at him and he knew, he got a look that was stuck in his face for the rest of the week and just said "Let me finish my shower and I'll explain".
And so he finished , and so he explained , and so I was moved , then I processed what he said and I was devastated , and then I thought about it once more and I started to cry , then he let go and started to cry even more than I did.
It was one of the saddest stories I had ever heard. Until you are 13-16 depending on the person you get no scars from lying, I mean come on who doesn’t lie as a kid. One day you wake up with an already fainted scar across your whole face which goes away in a day or two and that is how you know you now get scars from lying. So George was relatively lucky as he got his initiation scar a couple of weeks after he became sixteen.
When George was 14 his mother got cancer. His 3 years younger sister got cancer too a year later, while his father had died in an accident when George was 9. His mother was given a 60% chance of getting rid of the cancer for good at the beginning with chemotherapy. She didn’t. A month after she learned that her cancer got too spread to be completely stopped, her daughter got cancer too. George said the doctor believed that his mother must have been exposed to radiation when pregnant with his sister else it was just a very tragic coincidence that they both got cancer in such a small time interval with his sister at such a young age.
George’s mother stopped chemotherapy just before he became 15 since the doctor said it wouldn’t help anymore. His sister was never given much chance, a mere 10% that chemotherapy would even do anything.
His mother couldn’t get out of bed just before George turned 16. At the same time the doctor told his sister that chemotherapy couldn’t do anything anymore and that she was giving her about another year and 6 to 8 months in a “good enough” health.
Naturally George and his sister wanted their mother to die knowing her daughter at least would survive. So they thought they’d lie to her, tell her that her daughter was getting better. George learned how to do makeup and helped his sister so she would seem in good health no matter what happened. They told their mum that even though she had gotten past cancer she started paying attention to the details of life and that she wanted to start putting on make up to look better and her being 13 at the time her mother believed her.
And so George kept lying, with a lie that started a few weeks after he got his first scar, he kept saying the same lie to his mother everyday. His mother got worse and so did his sister. His mother died 6 months after George got 16 years old, his sister one month after that, the doctor predicted wrong. The last two months that their mother was alive his sister couldn’t get out of bed and so every day he lied to his mother that his sister had to study , or that she didn’t get a very good grade on a test and didn’t want to disappoint her , or that she went out with friends whenever his mother asked why his sister didn't visit much. On the days his sister was feeling better she put on make-up, gathered all her strength and walked enough to go sit beside her mother’s bed. And so George kept lying so that his mother would die happy, every day for hours each day he lied to his dying mother that his dying sister was well, a few weeks before the end he told her that his sister had gotten fully rid of her tumor while his sister would faint trying to get up and see her mother. And George kept lying even the last few days when his mother could hardly see or talk and asked to see her daughter, so George said that she went abroad in a school program for students good in literature related subjects and she called him to relay her love for her mother to her, while she was in the hospital 20 meters away on the same floor, hanging on to life by a thread. Then his mother died and he couldn’t lie anymore, his sister died and he could hardly feel like he could live anymore.
All that left him with one big scar, the same lie being told over and over and over again devastating him even more each time, killing him inside and out a bit more each time creating a scar that would never heal. Creating a scar that was bigger than anyone I and maybe anyone else living on this godforsaken planet has ever seen. Creating a scar that made every other evil, obstacle or problem seem redundant, turning George into the best person I had ever known, into the best person anyone that met him had ever known.
It’s a mad world , and it’s mad to judge people by their scars , some carry them with sorrow , some with pride , some with regret some with happiness , some only need one , some have none , some can’t seem to get enough.
.
This is my first ever prompt , pretty much the first story i've ever written to be honest ( outside of school of course). Feedback is appreciated
Also sorry if it got too sad too fast in the end I was listening to Tears in Heaven by Eric Clapton when I started writing , a very sad song who I only found out about yesterday, worth a listen.
Edit: So I'm done with changes to the story , may edit in the future if I find any spelling or grammar mistakes | She was sitting at one of the booths at the restaurant. When I came over to take her order.
"Have you decided yet or would you like another min?" I asked her.
"Oh." She turns to face me, that's when I see it, half her face is coved a single large scar. She does nothing to hide it. I try not to stare as she tells me her order. I jot it down on the note pad.
Green salad
Burger - MR w/ fries
I glance at it again "do you want anything to drink with that?"
"Ummmm" she says "No, water will be fine."
I tell her the usual half truth, "I will bring your food out soon ish." As I head off would not want to be too specific, I would leave mark. Though nothing like what she must have said to end up with that.
I bring her salad out and ask " Is everything OK with the meal so far?"
"I could use some more water, when you have the chance" she replies.
"Right away" I reply as I head off to get the water pitcher.
Her burger is done before she finishes the salad. I bring it over any way, would not want her food to be cold.
As I serve the burger I ask " Are you still eating?"
She says " no I'm done with the salad, I was just playing with it."
I take the plate and I walk a way. I don't get more than a few steps before I hear her crying behind me.
I turn around and ask "what's wrong?" before I can stop my self.
She smiles and holds up one of the kids toys that come with the childrens meals. "It reminds me of my daughter. She would have loved getting one of these."
"Oh..." I stammer, unsure what to say.
I glance at her scar again. She catches me and holds I contact.
I feel ashamed as I break eye contact and look at me feet.
"It was the only thing I could say to her." she began" That everything would be alright. What are you supposed to tell your children, that their going to die?"
She pause and breaths deeply.
What type of a mother would I be to not conform her? The shards of glass..." She breaks down crying again.
I just stand there, dumbfounded and wait. She stops crying eventually and looks at me.
"I'm sorry" she says, " but could I get the bill?"
I stand there, unsure untill some one taps me on the shoulder. I turn in a suddenly a wear that I was just standing there. It's my manager, he hands me her bill and says something, that I did not catch.
She pays her bill and leaves, and I am there left woundering, would I have done that? Could I have done that? | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | My deepest cut? Easy. Upper right hip, curving from almost my navel to my asscrack. It's an unusual, but fortunately concealed, spot for me; usually I'm an arm guy, so my parents always dressed me in tshirts, for conveniences sake when asking if I'd done my homework. You'd think they'd have figured it out, after I was held back a grade...
But this chick. Now, I'm a man who knows what I like. Short, curly hair, sundresses, enough scars to show a wild side, few enough scars that I know I won't get a 'git-scar. Happened to one of my buddies once; after his girlfriend found out his "I'm not cheating on you" mark was hidden under his beard, she cut more than hair in taking it off. I told him dating a girl with skin textured like prairie grass was bad news, but he just couldn't resist the crazies. Birds of a feather, I suppose...
But back to this girl. She had it all. The dress. The hair. The... scar. Some chicks hide them, some showcase them. She was a shower, and damn, did she have a lot to show. The dress had to be custom tailored, for it framed and flattered the deep colors of the scar along her back perfectly. But other than that... flawless. Already I longed to stroke her smooth arms, kiss her milky neck, lift up her already short dress...
I approached, and distracted by the juxtaposition of beauty and destruction, went with the lamest, most common of openings. I gestured towards her. "That's quite the display. Is it 'git?"
Her laughter, as expected, sounded like the tinkling of bells. "But of course it's legit!" she said. "It was a tragic accident..." she looked solemn, for a moment, as if getting lost in a painful memory, but then her smile, refreshing as a spring shower, returned. "Though of course, that might not be the case. After all, I only ever speak in lies." | She was sitting at one of the booths at the restaurant. When I came over to take her order.
"Have you decided yet or would you like another min?" I asked her.
"Oh." She turns to face me, that's when I see it, half her face is coved a single large scar. She does nothing to hide it. I try not to stare as she tells me her order. I jot it down on the note pad.
Green salad
Burger - MR w/ fries
I glance at it again "do you want anything to drink with that?"
"Ummmm" she says "No, water will be fine."
I tell her the usual half truth, "I will bring your food out soon ish." As I head off would not want to be too specific, I would leave mark. Though nothing like what she must have said to end up with that.
I bring her salad out and ask " Is everything OK with the meal so far?"
"I could use some more water, when you have the chance" she replies.
"Right away" I reply as I head off to get the water pitcher.
Her burger is done before she finishes the salad. I bring it over any way, would not want her food to be cold.
As I serve the burger I ask " Are you still eating?"
She says " no I'm done with the salad, I was just playing with it."
I take the plate and I walk a way. I don't get more than a few steps before I hear her crying behind me.
I turn around and ask "what's wrong?" before I can stop my self.
She smiles and holds up one of the kids toys that come with the childrens meals. "It reminds me of my daughter. She would have loved getting one of these."
"Oh..." I stammer, unsure what to say.
I glance at her scar again. She catches me and holds I contact.
I feel ashamed as I break eye contact and look at me feet.
"It was the only thing I could say to her." she began" That everything would be alright. What are you supposed to tell your children, that their going to die?"
She pause and breaths deeply.
What type of a mother would I be to not conform her? The shards of glass..." She breaks down crying again.
I just stand there, dumbfounded and wait. She stops crying eventually and looks at me.
"I'm sorry" she says, " but could I get the bill?"
I stand there, unsure untill some one taps me on the shoulder. I turn in a suddenly a wear that I was just standing there. It's my manager, he hands me her bill and says something, that I did not catch.
She pays her bill and leaves, and I am there left woundering, would I have done that? Could I have done that? | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | You want to know how I got these scars?
Well, for one thing they aren’t ‘scars’, if you look closely you’ll see it’s one continuous scar that travels around my face, neck, down my body, all around wrapping itself around my arms, legs, fingers and toes.
The only part of my body that isn’t scarred tissue is the inside of my body and even a bit of my mouth is still scarred.
So the correct question you want to ask is how did I get this scar?
Singular.
Well, you know that old saying? About how a girl likes a guy with scars? It shows they’re a bad boy, that they kick a lot of ass or in my case lie.
I didn’t kick anyone’s ass or get into a big crash, I lied.
That’s pretty much what happened.
I suppose you’ll want specifics.
Well, years ago back when I was unblemished, face filled with pimples and a voice that didn’t quite want to go low I had a crush on a girl.
A pretty girl, one that seemed to really like me with not a scar on her body as far as I could tell! So when she told me she loved me I believed her totally and without reservation.
We went out, kissed and eventually I did find she had scars. I won’t share the details of how I found out but I’m sure your imagination can fill in the blanks. Anyways, her scars, they were here and there. Small ones mostly with two or three medium sized ones. I asked her about them and she told me she didn’t want to talk about them. She seemed ashamed.
I wanted to tell her that she was human, that everyone had scars.
Then she looked at me and asked if I had any?
Well, I didn’t but I didn’t want her to feel bad so I said yes.
Next thing I knew I felt something scratch my arm and there it was. A scar.
Now that should’ve been the end of that but here’s the weird thing. It then sorta vanished. Then came back twice as bad as it realized I was sorta telling the truth but lying at the same time.
It couldn’t decide what to do.
So it just kept going.
So here I was with my girlfriend in front of me with my eyes wide in horror as the scar kept scratching me, fading and growing again. By the time it all stopped I was still screaming. Honestly I had no idea when I started.
And now we’re married.
| She was sitting at one of the booths at the restaurant. When I came over to take her order.
"Have you decided yet or would you like another min?" I asked her.
"Oh." She turns to face me, that's when I see it, half her face is coved a single large scar. She does nothing to hide it. I try not to stare as she tells me her order. I jot it down on the note pad.
Green salad
Burger - MR w/ fries
I glance at it again "do you want anything to drink with that?"
"Ummmm" she says "No, water will be fine."
I tell her the usual half truth, "I will bring your food out soon ish." As I head off would not want to be too specific, I would leave mark. Though nothing like what she must have said to end up with that.
I bring her salad out and ask " Is everything OK with the meal so far?"
"I could use some more water, when you have the chance" she replies.
"Right away" I reply as I head off to get the water pitcher.
Her burger is done before she finishes the salad. I bring it over any way, would not want her food to be cold.
As I serve the burger I ask " Are you still eating?"
She says " no I'm done with the salad, I was just playing with it."
I take the plate and I walk a way. I don't get more than a few steps before I hear her crying behind me.
I turn around and ask "what's wrong?" before I can stop my self.
She smiles and holds up one of the kids toys that come with the childrens meals. "It reminds me of my daughter. She would have loved getting one of these."
"Oh..." I stammer, unsure what to say.
I glance at her scar again. She catches me and holds I contact.
I feel ashamed as I break eye contact and look at me feet.
"It was the only thing I could say to her." she began" That everything would be alright. What are you supposed to tell your children, that their going to die?"
She pause and breaths deeply.
What type of a mother would I be to not conform her? The shards of glass..." She breaks down crying again.
I just stand there, dumbfounded and wait. She stops crying eventually and looks at me.
"I'm sorry" she says, " but could I get the bill?"
I stand there, unsure untill some one taps me on the shoulder. I turn in a suddenly a wear that I was just standing there. It's my manager, he hands me her bill and says something, that I did not catch.
She pays her bill and leaves, and I am there left woundering, would I have done that? Could I have done that? | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | The subway rattled it's syncopated song, barumm...bum, bum...barumm...bum, bum...barumm...bum, bum. About twenty lonely people swayed back and forth in harmony within the car. There are usually a few homeless people at this hour. One typically sat in the far back corner, asleep.
But tonight there was just a guy with puffy eyes in a white tee shirt with sleeves that came to around the middle of his bicep. He was thin, but not sickeningly so, moderately handsome, and utterly defeated judging by his posture. His most striking feature of all was a newly formed slash down his forearm. The largest I've ever seen, by far. Still wet, they would say. His second most striking feature was the absence of any other scars.
Now usually, you get at least a few scars growing up. It's kind of like touching a burner as a kid. You just have to learn from experience. You might tell a fib at school about homework, and pets that have suddenly acquired an appetite for homework, and you collect a few scars along the way. I sure as hell did at least.
But this guy had to have made it all the way here, in New York City of all places, without telling a single lie. Well, until today. I was intrigued. I mean, how could you not be? He was Mother-freaking-Teresa, but even she probably failed to disclose the secret location of her breadbasket base every now and then. "Dantooine...they're all on Dantooine," she might have said.
I approached, with caution. I recognize this was selfish of me, but maybe the guy needed someone to talk to.
"Hey, man. You doing ok?" I said, conveying empathy the best my socially awkward self could manage.
"Yeah," the kid, who I just realized was only about 26, if that, said with such brevity that he may as well said nothing at all.
"Look, I don't usually intrude on people's private affairs. It's just, usually a homeless guy who goes by Squirrel sits where you are now and I don't think the strongest constitution in the bowel department, if you get my meaning."
The kid smiled at least, wiping his right eye with his scarless forearm, and moved to the bench seat next to where I was standing. "I'm John," he said.
"Hi John, it's a pleasure. I'm Matt." I sat down next to him. "Maybe if you tell me about your day, you will be distracted enough to forget it."
"I guess we aren't really going anywhere, are we." The doors to the subway car opened to dump out about half its contents. Those left in the car were otherwise enthralled in their phones or their headphones. "How many more stops do you have?"
"Twelve."
"Me too." He looked around the car, as the doors closed and the car lurched forward with the same barumm...bum, bum...barumm...bum, bum. I guess he adjudged the car private enough, so he began his story.
It all started with a girl. Imagine that. "Ah, to be young again," I thought. Brown hair, decent looks, and smart, he said. He had dated her for four years. They had graduated college together, fallen in love, and moved in to a too-small-but-hey-we-are-achieving-our-dreams-and-living-in-the-big-city-oh-look-a-dead-rat-its-nothing-we-will-get-used-to-it apartment. They even got one of those stupid plant holders that hang out of window sills. You know the ones that kill about eight people a year in a city like the Big Apple.
John had been the perfect boyfriend to Sally. He got her cute gifts that were within his budget, but not too within his budget, and he was nice to all of her friends. He even took her to a Giants game or two. Hell, he even ended up on the big screen for a kiss that ended up being televised on WFAN because of the quirky way he tossed the popcorn aside and did one of those "back from the war" kisses.
They even got engaged.
But last year, Sally was diagnosed with a cognitive disorder that changed her behavior. Sally was never the same again. She had flashes of anger, where she would insult John and his family. She would talk of other guys she had been with in the past, when she never did that before. She would even compare John to other guys that they had been around, telling him why they were better than him. This went on for a year.
She demeaned him to the point of no return, yet he remained there with her. John kept her medication in order and cooked for her, because processes were lost at that point. After Sally lost control of her colon he cleaned their Murphy Bed in their too-small-but-hey-we-are-achieving-our-dreams-and-living-in-the-big-city-oh-look-a-dead-rat-its-nothing-we-will-get-used-to-it apartment. He sat with her in the hospital for two weeks and lost his accounting job due to it. He was there today when she died.
Sally had looked up at him within her last hour and said she remembered the day they watched a dog in Central Park on a long leash literally wrap its owner up "101 Dalmatians" style and drag him a few yards. They laughed aloud, heads back like Peanuts characters, like they had many times before Sally became ill. She looked up at John, with tears welling in her eyes. For a brief moment, the old Sally was there.
"I love you," she said.
"I love you, too," he replied. | She was sitting at one of the booths at the restaurant. When I came over to take her order.
"Have you decided yet or would you like another min?" I asked her.
"Oh." She turns to face me, that's when I see it, half her face is coved a single large scar. She does nothing to hide it. I try not to stare as she tells me her order. I jot it down on the note pad.
Green salad
Burger - MR w/ fries
I glance at it again "do you want anything to drink with that?"
"Ummmm" she says "No, water will be fine."
I tell her the usual half truth, "I will bring your food out soon ish." As I head off would not want to be too specific, I would leave mark. Though nothing like what she must have said to end up with that.
I bring her salad out and ask " Is everything OK with the meal so far?"
"I could use some more water, when you have the chance" she replies.
"Right away" I reply as I head off to get the water pitcher.
Her burger is done before she finishes the salad. I bring it over any way, would not want her food to be cold.
As I serve the burger I ask " Are you still eating?"
She says " no I'm done with the salad, I was just playing with it."
I take the plate and I walk a way. I don't get more than a few steps before I hear her crying behind me.
I turn around and ask "what's wrong?" before I can stop my self.
She smiles and holds up one of the kids toys that come with the childrens meals. "It reminds me of my daughter. She would have loved getting one of these."
"Oh..." I stammer, unsure what to say.
I glance at her scar again. She catches me and holds I contact.
I feel ashamed as I break eye contact and look at me feet.
"It was the only thing I could say to her." she began" That everything would be alright. What are you supposed to tell your children, that their going to die?"
She pause and breaths deeply.
What type of a mother would I be to not conform her? The shards of glass..." She breaks down crying again.
I just stand there, dumbfounded and wait. She stops crying eventually and looks at me.
"I'm sorry" she says, " but could I get the bill?"
I stand there, unsure untill some one taps me on the shoulder. I turn in a suddenly a wear that I was just standing there. It's my manager, he hands me her bill and says something, that I did not catch.
She pays her bill and leaves, and I am there left woundering, would I have done that? Could I have done that? | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | I met Mark in a coffee shop. I couldn't say it was love at first sight, but he was a real head turner, everywhere he went one or two people did a double take. I've never been one for conventional beauty, but my God, his skin. He was in his late 30s, but he had the perfect skin of a newborn child. He didn't have the scratches everyone else our age did. I had never seen a man like him, maybe a few models on billboards, but we all know they take a decently honest man and photoshop him into a saint.
I was intimidated, but just a second after I spoke to him, he interrupted me. He told me he thought I was beautiful, and I knew a man like this couldn't throw that out to every woman he meets. From then on it was like a dream, he was just perfect.
Yet, everywhere we went, I could feel the looming questions. All of them as they turned their heads away, trying to pretend they weren't staring, all thinking "Why her?", "How can someone like him trust someone like her?", or "Relationships like theirs never work". I know because I had thought the same things about similar couples, and never had the difference been so stark.
At first, I laid my makeup on thicker and thicker, every time we went out I felt like I wore a mask. He noticed this, and reassured me it didn't matter what everyone else thought, Mark told me "Mary, this is about us, not them. I trust you. I know your an even better person than I am, a few lies don't make you any less of a person". In time I relaxed my makeup, I even wore less than most people.
I had always been rather conservative, but with him, I was hesitant to get physical for an entirely different reason. I know he said he didn't care about my scars, and I know he believed that, but I feared what he would think when he saw me laid bare, saw the scars that blanketed me. Mostly the little scratches that everyone has, but I had a few nasty ones. I had a 5 inch one across my stomach, that I desperately didn't want him to see, he'd ask me to explain it!
I got it in highschool, a friend I'd had since childhood had mugged a woman, things went wrong and he stabbed her. He ran back to our apartment building and told me the whole thing, how he left her there in the alley, in her own blood. I had known him since we were both four, I couldn't let him go to prison. When the police questioned me, I covered for him, I told them he had spent the whole night with me. When I heard the woman died, my scar ached, it grew longer. He left town not long after that, and I didn't keep in touch, I couldn't handle it. Before he left, I did see his scar. It was awful, it went the whole length of his forearm, not something you saw often, only on the news or on TV.
The idea of Mark seeing me nude terrified me, I told him so. I even asked him if we could do it in the dark, at least the first time. Maybe if he felt my skin before he saw it, then it wouldn't shock him so much. He was silent. He told me not to worry, he told me his skin wasnt perfect. He had a scar too. A scar.
It was supposed to make me feel better, but it only multiplied my self consciousness. Only one scar? That just wasn't possible. He reassured me, he told me no matter how many scars I had, that he wouldn't ask questions, that he would still love me.
I cried there in his arms. I knew he was telling the truth. I don't know how long it was, but with time and his comfort, I calmed down. We moved to the bed, him talking off my shirt. He wasn't fazed at all, by all the blemishes, by the lies of all my 34 years on this earth, more than most.
Then he removed his shirt.
It was terrible. I shouted at the sight of it. It ran from his right shoulder blade to the lower left side of his stomach. It was wide. It was deep. I was shaking, and I saw the hurt in his eyes.
"No, no" he said quickly. "I had a car crash" he said "three years ago".
A car crash? Yes! An injury! It had to be, he couldn't lie, he was the most honest man I had ever met, he never let a mistruth breach his lips. He had to be telling the truth now.
I embraced him. I hugged him tight. I never felt so relieved, I never felt so loved. I knew I had been completed, that I would spend the rest of my life with this man.
We kissed, long and deep. I ran my fingers through his hair and caressed his neck. There I felt it. A roughness. A single tiny scar, just behind his left ear. Had I just not noticed it before? We had only known each other four months, I had not felt every inch of his head. Maybe it was a single lie, from who knows when. Maybe it just another injury, a tiny nick from falling back and hitting his head. Maybe he didn't even know he had it.
We are getting married soon. I haven't asked him about his scar again. I wonder if maybe I should. Maybe I should measure that blemish behind his ear and see if it grows after I ask him.
| No one knew who he was. I certainly did not. We had all had several cuts on our bodies over our lifespans. My cuts went deep and had riddled my face ugly and my body full of scars.
But when we saw him... we were amazed.
Just one scar, one scar that ran his lips. It was like a laughing line, like he had cut it himself... but he wouldn't have. Why would someone give themselves such a hideous deformity?
I watched him as he came to our town. His scar dug deep into his jaw, sliding all the way up to nearly his ears. Like when he spoke, he was almost a puppet flapping its mouth.
I kept my eyes fixated on him, just staring.
He moved in next door to me and I could hear him howling with laughter in the night. It scared me, but more thrilled.
I wanted to know why he had that scar... I wanted to figure out what he had hidden.
I snuck into his house one night, waiting for him to come home. But all I heard when his footsteps came into the hall of the apartment floor, was scraping and crackling.
I pulled my gun closer to my arms. I wasn't going to kill him, but I felt the feeling that he was going to aim directly at me.
A scar that deep usually meant murder. It was a very cold world we lived in.
No essence of good... no essence of even a conscience. We didn't care who saw our scars. Some of us even would tell the story behind the terrible lies we had made in pubs and parties.
When I saw his doorknob turn, I swallowed, and aimed the gun to the door.
I could hear the sound of cackling and the man only whispered out on the other side.
"Hello John..."
I froze. The gun dropped out of my hand in horror and just as it did the door opened, the gun flipped up to my chin by its own power and shot right across my scratched up face.
I scampered back in the seat, terrified as the forever laughing scarred smile man looked at me. His black eyes glinting and I blubbered out.
"Who, are you...?"
"Who do you think I am?"
"The devil!"
He winked at me, nodding his head and I gasped. I was only cussing at him, but he seemed so sure of himself it scared me to bits.
He would've gotten a scar then if he had lied, but he hadn't.
I asked him, as I saw the gun levitate in the air and fly into his hand. He pointed it at me and smiled his giant scarred smile.
"What did you do... to get only one scar...?"
I wanted to know before I died, needed to have an answer and he just crooked his head, laughing at me as he slowly began to press his finger down on the trigger.
"I made the whole world believe I didn't exist."
Lights out a second later.
My brains sprayed against the wall. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | She said: "I'm Catholic, and for my first confession we were herded before the priest and told to tell him our sins. At seven years old, I knew I had to make something up or be punished for the sin of Satan, Pride."
That was the only time I couldn't tell the truth so, "'I'm a liar,'" I lied. | No one knew who he was. I certainly did not. We had all had several cuts on our bodies over our lifespans. My cuts went deep and had riddled my face ugly and my body full of scars.
But when we saw him... we were amazed.
Just one scar, one scar that ran his lips. It was like a laughing line, like he had cut it himself... but he wouldn't have. Why would someone give themselves such a hideous deformity?
I watched him as he came to our town. His scar dug deep into his jaw, sliding all the way up to nearly his ears. Like when he spoke, he was almost a puppet flapping its mouth.
I kept my eyes fixated on him, just staring.
He moved in next door to me and I could hear him howling with laughter in the night. It scared me, but more thrilled.
I wanted to know why he had that scar... I wanted to figure out what he had hidden.
I snuck into his house one night, waiting for him to come home. But all I heard when his footsteps came into the hall of the apartment floor, was scraping and crackling.
I pulled my gun closer to my arms. I wasn't going to kill him, but I felt the feeling that he was going to aim directly at me.
A scar that deep usually meant murder. It was a very cold world we lived in.
No essence of good... no essence of even a conscience. We didn't care who saw our scars. Some of us even would tell the story behind the terrible lies we had made in pubs and parties.
When I saw his doorknob turn, I swallowed, and aimed the gun to the door.
I could hear the sound of cackling and the man only whispered out on the other side.
"Hello John..."
I froze. The gun dropped out of my hand in horror and just as it did the door opened, the gun flipped up to my chin by its own power and shot right across my scratched up face.
I scampered back in the seat, terrified as the forever laughing scarred smile man looked at me. His black eyes glinting and I blubbered out.
"Who, are you...?"
"Who do you think I am?"
"The devil!"
He winked at me, nodding his head and I gasped. I was only cussing at him, but he seemed so sure of himself it scared me to bits.
He would've gotten a scar then if he had lied, but he hadn't.
I asked him, as I saw the gun levitate in the air and fly into his hand. He pointed it at me and smiled his giant scarred smile.
"What did you do... to get only one scar...?"
I wanted to know before I died, needed to have an answer and he just crooked his head, laughing at me as he slowly began to press his finger down on the trigger.
"I made the whole world believe I didn't exist."
Lights out a second later.
My brains sprayed against the wall. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | I live in a world when you lie you get a scar. The bigger the scar, the worse the lie. I apparently was in an accident a year ago and now I can't remember things that well. So there I am at the store and I see this girl with one extremely large and deep looking scar. I figured I should go ask her what she said because it seems interesting there was only one lie. So I asked her and she said she used to be my wife. She couldn't look me in the eye and she said it was "I love you."
Edit: Yes I know someone else did something similar to this. Just saying before downvotes happen. | No one knew who he was. I certainly did not. We had all had several cuts on our bodies over our lifespans. My cuts went deep and had riddled my face ugly and my body full of scars.
But when we saw him... we were amazed.
Just one scar, one scar that ran his lips. It was like a laughing line, like he had cut it himself... but he wouldn't have. Why would someone give themselves such a hideous deformity?
I watched him as he came to our town. His scar dug deep into his jaw, sliding all the way up to nearly his ears. Like when he spoke, he was almost a puppet flapping its mouth.
I kept my eyes fixated on him, just staring.
He moved in next door to me and I could hear him howling with laughter in the night. It scared me, but more thrilled.
I wanted to know why he had that scar... I wanted to figure out what he had hidden.
I snuck into his house one night, waiting for him to come home. But all I heard when his footsteps came into the hall of the apartment floor, was scraping and crackling.
I pulled my gun closer to my arms. I wasn't going to kill him, but I felt the feeling that he was going to aim directly at me.
A scar that deep usually meant murder. It was a very cold world we lived in.
No essence of good... no essence of even a conscience. We didn't care who saw our scars. Some of us even would tell the story behind the terrible lies we had made in pubs and parties.
When I saw his doorknob turn, I swallowed, and aimed the gun to the door.
I could hear the sound of cackling and the man only whispered out on the other side.
"Hello John..."
I froze. The gun dropped out of my hand in horror and just as it did the door opened, the gun flipped up to my chin by its own power and shot right across my scratched up face.
I scampered back in the seat, terrified as the forever laughing scarred smile man looked at me. His black eyes glinting and I blubbered out.
"Who, are you...?"
"Who do you think I am?"
"The devil!"
He winked at me, nodding his head and I gasped. I was only cussing at him, but he seemed so sure of himself it scared me to bits.
He would've gotten a scar then if he had lied, but he hadn't.
I asked him, as I saw the gun levitate in the air and fly into his hand. He pointed it at me and smiled his giant scarred smile.
"What did you do... to get only one scar...?"
I wanted to know before I died, needed to have an answer and he just crooked his head, laughing at me as he slowly began to press his finger down on the trigger.
"I made the whole world believe I didn't exist."
Lights out a second later.
My brains sprayed against the wall. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | "Mr. Graves, are you certain your client has been telling the truth?" The voice of the judge cut through the room. I glanced up from my papers, and stood up, taking off my gloves and scarf.
The jury panel gasped a little bit when they saw my unscarred face and hands. More than a few looked jealous, but most merely looked impressed. I nodded. Good. I had affixed myself as a person who told the truth in their mind.
My client, meanwhile, was a mass of scars. They marred his face, hands, neck, biceps. A few of them were deep and ugly. He was staring at his handcuffed hands, looking despondent.
I cleared my throat. "Yes, your honor. And I intend to prove not only to you, but to the men and women of the jury that the evidence the state has not does not prove my client's innocence, but that the evidence proves his innocence!"
The jury mumbled amongst themselves as I launched into my opening statement.
---
"Thank you, Mr. Graves," my client said, grinning in my office, wearing his ratty yet comfortable clothes once again. "I thought I'd be locked up for good, but you... you pulled off a miracle. "
I smiled a little, straightening my posture and linking my fingers on the desk. "It wasn't me, Mr. Williams. It was your testimony that made the most compelling argument."
Williams smiled, the scars on his face stretching and distorting.
"Mr. Graves, you're a godsend. I can never thank you enough. I'm going to go and try and pull my life together."
There. A small little slice, right by his ear. It wasn't much, and he didn't notice it, and I didn't stare. No one deserved to be caught, especially in the lies they tell themselves.
Mr. Williams thanked me profusely, continued to make that same promise that tore open that scar a little more each time, then left.
When he was gone, I once again stood in the mirror in my office. I unbuttoned my shirt, allowing myself a wince as I opened the shirt a bit further. Yep, it was still there. The one scar that I had from telling myself the lie. The biggest lie I had ever told, and it was the only reason I was still around.
I took a deep breath, looked myself dead in the mirror, and mouthed the lie to myself.
The pain lanced through me as the scar re-opened once again, starting at my collarbone, opening up through my stomach, curling around my belly button, and immediately soaking my pant leg with blood as it ended somewhere in my inner thigh.
The pain had been enough to knock me out the first time I had told that lie. My parents had rushed me to the hospital. Now, all I did was grunt, set my teeth, and reach for the suture kit on the counter in front of me.
That lie hurt, even more each time I said it. But I had to let myself know I was okay. Even if it was a lie. | No one knew who he was. I certainly did not. We had all had several cuts on our bodies over our lifespans. My cuts went deep and had riddled my face ugly and my body full of scars.
But when we saw him... we were amazed.
Just one scar, one scar that ran his lips. It was like a laughing line, like he had cut it himself... but he wouldn't have. Why would someone give themselves such a hideous deformity?
I watched him as he came to our town. His scar dug deep into his jaw, sliding all the way up to nearly his ears. Like when he spoke, he was almost a puppet flapping its mouth.
I kept my eyes fixated on him, just staring.
He moved in next door to me and I could hear him howling with laughter in the night. It scared me, but more thrilled.
I wanted to know why he had that scar... I wanted to figure out what he had hidden.
I snuck into his house one night, waiting for him to come home. But all I heard when his footsteps came into the hall of the apartment floor, was scraping and crackling.
I pulled my gun closer to my arms. I wasn't going to kill him, but I felt the feeling that he was going to aim directly at me.
A scar that deep usually meant murder. It was a very cold world we lived in.
No essence of good... no essence of even a conscience. We didn't care who saw our scars. Some of us even would tell the story behind the terrible lies we had made in pubs and parties.
When I saw his doorknob turn, I swallowed, and aimed the gun to the door.
I could hear the sound of cackling and the man only whispered out on the other side.
"Hello John..."
I froze. The gun dropped out of my hand in horror and just as it did the door opened, the gun flipped up to my chin by its own power and shot right across my scratched up face.
I scampered back in the seat, terrified as the forever laughing scarred smile man looked at me. His black eyes glinting and I blubbered out.
"Who, are you...?"
"Who do you think I am?"
"The devil!"
He winked at me, nodding his head and I gasped. I was only cussing at him, but he seemed so sure of himself it scared me to bits.
He would've gotten a scar then if he had lied, but he hadn't.
I asked him, as I saw the gun levitate in the air and fly into his hand. He pointed it at me and smiled his giant scarred smile.
"What did you do... to get only one scar...?"
I wanted to know before I died, needed to have an answer and he just crooked his head, laughing at me as he slowly began to press his finger down on the trigger.
"I made the whole world believe I didn't exist."
Lights out a second later.
My brains sprayed against the wall. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | We lived side by side spending our days joined at the hips so much so people thought we were brothers. My skin was covered in them by the time I was 12 while he hadn’t got a single mark yet, I was slightly envious of his clear skin that impressed people for a boy his age. When I asked him how he did it, he simply shrugged and said anything was possible with a slight grin. His vague reply made me more jealous, sure I lied more than most kids my age but most of the lies were petty and insignificant that I didn’t think twice about. Plus, the marks I got didn’t hurt one bit so it just sorta added up after a while.
Then childhood ended and I moved away right before I started high-school. We didn’t really keep in contact with each other like how most kids promise but never do. It wasn’t any different with us, by the time my 20s came around he was just a hazy childhood friend I had all but forgotten about.
It was blistering hot that day, too hot to wear anything but short sleeves and pants. I hated wearing those types of clothes, while most people’s scars were skinny and faded into their skin. Mine had become more gashed and discolored as I grew older, I was one of the unlucky ones whose skin healed badly to these marks. Just genetics they told me.
I was walking back from the bus stop when I saw him in front of me, his clear pale skin devoid of any scars got my attention first before I saw his face. When I looked up at his face that’s when I recognized him, I called out his name and waved slightly at him. His face looked blank for a moment before lighting up in recognition as well. His pasty lips smiled at me and called me over, while we caught up all I could notice was how unblemished his arms and legs looked. Scars usually showed up first on your limbs before covering your whole body.
He must have noticed my gawking and laughed a bit before telling me to not trust your first impressions. I was confused by what he meant, but when I asked he just smiled a bit wider.
“Ben, I was actually kind of happy you were jealous of me when we were younger. In a way, I was just lucky they showed up in places where no one noticed.” He said to me, before turning his back and walking away before I could reply.
I noticed a painful red looking scar peeking out from the back of his neck and drops of red starting to stain his white shirt.
| No one knew who he was. I certainly did not. We had all had several cuts on our bodies over our lifespans. My cuts went deep and had riddled my face ugly and my body full of scars.
But when we saw him... we were amazed.
Just one scar, one scar that ran his lips. It was like a laughing line, like he had cut it himself... but he wouldn't have. Why would someone give themselves such a hideous deformity?
I watched him as he came to our town. His scar dug deep into his jaw, sliding all the way up to nearly his ears. Like when he spoke, he was almost a puppet flapping its mouth.
I kept my eyes fixated on him, just staring.
He moved in next door to me and I could hear him howling with laughter in the night. It scared me, but more thrilled.
I wanted to know why he had that scar... I wanted to figure out what he had hidden.
I snuck into his house one night, waiting for him to come home. But all I heard when his footsteps came into the hall of the apartment floor, was scraping and crackling.
I pulled my gun closer to my arms. I wasn't going to kill him, but I felt the feeling that he was going to aim directly at me.
A scar that deep usually meant murder. It was a very cold world we lived in.
No essence of good... no essence of even a conscience. We didn't care who saw our scars. Some of us even would tell the story behind the terrible lies we had made in pubs and parties.
When I saw his doorknob turn, I swallowed, and aimed the gun to the door.
I could hear the sound of cackling and the man only whispered out on the other side.
"Hello John..."
I froze. The gun dropped out of my hand in horror and just as it did the door opened, the gun flipped up to my chin by its own power and shot right across my scratched up face.
I scampered back in the seat, terrified as the forever laughing scarred smile man looked at me. His black eyes glinting and I blubbered out.
"Who, are you...?"
"Who do you think I am?"
"The devil!"
He winked at me, nodding his head and I gasped. I was only cussing at him, but he seemed so sure of himself it scared me to bits.
He would've gotten a scar then if he had lied, but he hadn't.
I asked him, as I saw the gun levitate in the air and fly into his hand. He pointed it at me and smiled his giant scarred smile.
"What did you do... to get only one scar...?"
I wanted to know before I died, needed to have an answer and he just crooked his head, laughing at me as he slowly began to press his finger down on the trigger.
"I made the whole world believe I didn't exist."
Lights out a second later.
My brains sprayed against the wall. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | We met at a bar one evening. She had a beer in her hand, something local on tap, about half-drained. We struck up some conversation - weather or sports or some such, I don't remember, small talk though. She made some passing comment about liking my ears, and I almost brushed it off as false praise - I think they stick out a bit too much - before I noticed her smooth skin; not a single scar visible.
I had my own fair share of lies cut into my skin - most minor, a few major. Even the bigger ones I'd usually defend, outside of a big one on my arm. "I've been clean for a year!". Even so, that's the least regretful mistake from that part of my life - I'm proud to say I can say that line now without the scar growing larger.
I got her name - Jane - and later, her number. We ended up setting up a date for the following weekend, and hit it off quickly. Similar interests - hiking, video games, cooking... Well, mostly same interests, anyway. I remember her coy smile when I said I liked her Coltrane collection, and a line of skin on my forearm darkened. Can't stand jazz, really.
I thought for about a month that she was perfectly honest, until we went to bed together. Jane seemed reluctant to take off her shirt, but that same honesty that kept her skin smooth must have demanded she not cover up now - her bra came off, and across the inside of her left breast was the deepest scar that I've ever seen. It wasn't a discoloration like most scars - it was like a knotted rope was underneath the skin.
It wasn't the sort of thing you can comment on lightly, but at the same time, it would be more conspicuous to ignore it. She was clearly distressed, waiting for my reaction. I wasn't sure what to say, but we were both naked at that point so there was no hoping that a lie would be covered up by clothing.
"There's obviously a story here, and I'm curious, but... Right now, it's not important. I'm willing to wait until you're willing to tell me on your own terms" I said, and punctuated the sentence with a kiss. She ran a hand through my short hair, and the encounter continued naturally after that. But frankly the details are none of your business.
It was another six months before I learned any more details about that scar of hers. We were quite serious by now, and I'd had plenty of opportunities to see it again at this point.
Jane told me that her parents were going to be coming by for Thanksgiving, and that she wanted me to be there. Her face was strangely tense, and when I pressed for information, she just said that she didn't feel up for explaining. What could I say to that? So, I didn't press the issue, and waited for Thursday to roll around.
Her parents showed up - her mother was a frumpy sort of woman, with a flowery dress, and her father was tall, but had a thick neck and a double chin. I was surprised the two of them could have produced such a beautiful daughter, but all the same I could see some resemblance, particularly in the eyes and nose.
The first thing I heard her father say - before even "hello" - was right after he jerked a thumb in my direction. "Is this that friend of yours? She looks like a fucking dyke." Her mother agreed emphatically. I found myself dumbstruck, unable to respond. Jane laughed uncomfortably, but her father didn't seem to notice - he was sniffing the air.
"Turkey's already on, eh? Surprised you haven't caught yourself a husband yet, with your cooking. Hah!"
"No luck yet, but I'm sure I'll find one one of these days." Jane replied with a weak smile, clearly hiding a wince as the scar above her heart wrought its way deeper into her skin. | No one knew who he was. I certainly did not. We had all had several cuts on our bodies over our lifespans. My cuts went deep and had riddled my face ugly and my body full of scars.
But when we saw him... we were amazed.
Just one scar, one scar that ran his lips. It was like a laughing line, like he had cut it himself... but he wouldn't have. Why would someone give themselves such a hideous deformity?
I watched him as he came to our town. His scar dug deep into his jaw, sliding all the way up to nearly his ears. Like when he spoke, he was almost a puppet flapping its mouth.
I kept my eyes fixated on him, just staring.
He moved in next door to me and I could hear him howling with laughter in the night. It scared me, but more thrilled.
I wanted to know why he had that scar... I wanted to figure out what he had hidden.
I snuck into his house one night, waiting for him to come home. But all I heard when his footsteps came into the hall of the apartment floor, was scraping and crackling.
I pulled my gun closer to my arms. I wasn't going to kill him, but I felt the feeling that he was going to aim directly at me.
A scar that deep usually meant murder. It was a very cold world we lived in.
No essence of good... no essence of even a conscience. We didn't care who saw our scars. Some of us even would tell the story behind the terrible lies we had made in pubs and parties.
When I saw his doorknob turn, I swallowed, and aimed the gun to the door.
I could hear the sound of cackling and the man only whispered out on the other side.
"Hello John..."
I froze. The gun dropped out of my hand in horror and just as it did the door opened, the gun flipped up to my chin by its own power and shot right across my scratched up face.
I scampered back in the seat, terrified as the forever laughing scarred smile man looked at me. His black eyes glinting and I blubbered out.
"Who, are you...?"
"Who do you think I am?"
"The devil!"
He winked at me, nodding his head and I gasped. I was only cussing at him, but he seemed so sure of himself it scared me to bits.
He would've gotten a scar then if he had lied, but he hadn't.
I asked him, as I saw the gun levitate in the air and fly into his hand. He pointed it at me and smiled his giant scarred smile.
"What did you do... to get only one scar...?"
I wanted to know before I died, needed to have an answer and he just crooked his head, laughing at me as he slowly began to press his finger down on the trigger.
"I made the whole world believe I didn't exist."
Lights out a second later.
My brains sprayed against the wall. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be.
What did they do?
What did they lie about?
In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people.
I knew lying was wrong, most of the time.
But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you.
You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time.
You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened: You lied.
It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder; Can I trust you?
Trust?
What was trust in this world?
The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne.
You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true.
But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer?
It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold.
You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be.
It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar.
We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away.
We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed.
We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear.
But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back.
The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder.
When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know.
Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off.
Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze.
"What do you want?" he asked.
And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar.
"Nothing". | No one knew who he was. I certainly did not. We had all had several cuts on our bodies over our lifespans. My cuts went deep and had riddled my face ugly and my body full of scars.
But when we saw him... we were amazed.
Just one scar, one scar that ran his lips. It was like a laughing line, like he had cut it himself... but he wouldn't have. Why would someone give themselves such a hideous deformity?
I watched him as he came to our town. His scar dug deep into his jaw, sliding all the way up to nearly his ears. Like when he spoke, he was almost a puppet flapping its mouth.
I kept my eyes fixated on him, just staring.
He moved in next door to me and I could hear him howling with laughter in the night. It scared me, but more thrilled.
I wanted to know why he had that scar... I wanted to figure out what he had hidden.
I snuck into his house one night, waiting for him to come home. But all I heard when his footsteps came into the hall of the apartment floor, was scraping and crackling.
I pulled my gun closer to my arms. I wasn't going to kill him, but I felt the feeling that he was going to aim directly at me.
A scar that deep usually meant murder. It was a very cold world we lived in.
No essence of good... no essence of even a conscience. We didn't care who saw our scars. Some of us even would tell the story behind the terrible lies we had made in pubs and parties.
When I saw his doorknob turn, I swallowed, and aimed the gun to the door.
I could hear the sound of cackling and the man only whispered out on the other side.
"Hello John..."
I froze. The gun dropped out of my hand in horror and just as it did the door opened, the gun flipped up to my chin by its own power and shot right across my scratched up face.
I scampered back in the seat, terrified as the forever laughing scarred smile man looked at me. His black eyes glinting and I blubbered out.
"Who, are you...?"
"Who do you think I am?"
"The devil!"
He winked at me, nodding his head and I gasped. I was only cussing at him, but he seemed so sure of himself it scared me to bits.
He would've gotten a scar then if he had lied, but he hadn't.
I asked him, as I saw the gun levitate in the air and fly into his hand. He pointed it at me and smiled his giant scarred smile.
"What did you do... to get only one scar...?"
I wanted to know before I died, needed to have an answer and he just crooked his head, laughing at me as he slowly began to press his finger down on the trigger.
"I made the whole world believe I didn't exist."
Lights out a second later.
My brains sprayed against the wall. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | It was the middle of the January, one of the better times to lie if you had to. In the cold winter months, you could get away with hiding your secrets under an oversized, baggy sweater. There just enough snow in the air that to make the sky seem to sparkle, but it was nothing compared to the sparkle in her piercing green eyes when they first made contact with mine. I swear, it was love at first sight.
Her hair was close cut, its raven black color a stark contrast to the white world which framed it. Her cheeks and nose had a splash of red from the cold. Fuzzy earmuffs, slightly oversized on her head, enveloped her ears. The cold steam of her breath escaped in short bursts from thin, pursed lips. She turned toward me a bit, wrapping her puffy red coat snugly around her body and drawing her arms over her chest for warmth. Skinny black jeans, the kind that showed off just enough of her curves, ran down into pristine white boots, the soles of which were almost obscured by the thin layer of snow on the ground.
In short, she was perfect.
Before I realized what I was doing, I hid my hands in my coat pockets self-consciously. I cursed myself for not having the foresight to wear gloves. Most of mine show up on my hands, and seeing all of them up front tends to give people the wrong first impression. See, the Scars have something of a twisted sense of humor. You tell a lie about some action you've taken, you get a scar on your arms or hands; tell a lie about somewhere you've been, you get a scar on your legs or feet; tell a lie about what you think, you get a scar somewhere on your head. Medical experts have been studying the scars for as far back as anyone can remember, but the best science can tell us is that they just... happen. For all science knows, the world could be home to legions of overly vigilant, painfully ironic fairies wielding pocket knives.
Gathering my courage, I unzipped my coat and started walking in her direction. I nearly stopped myself and turned away a couple of times, but I'd promised myself long ago to always be truthful to my feelings. Nonetheless, I stalled awkwardly when I came close. Her green eyes watching me, the smell of her perfume drifting over to me, the cold wind blowing against my shirt...
I took a deep breath. I probably looked like an idiot. But, now was not the time to panic. I laid my heart out on the line, in more ways than one. I told her she was one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen, and that if she would allow me the opportunity, I wanted to take her somewhere special. That might seem a bit direct, but it helps your case a lot when a girl can simply watch your chest to see if your feelings are genuine. Sure enough, no bloodstain appeared. She looked down at the snowy ground, her cheeks growing even more red in the cold weather.
"Alright," she said, her lips teasing into a slight smile. "What did you have in mind?"
Good question. What did I have in mind?
We ended up in a nearby restaurant, though I can't for the life of me remember how. I got really lucky is probably the best answer. As we took our seats in the booth, she took off her outer jacket, revealing a white sweater underneath. I didn't think anything of it at first.
Slowly, as if unsure of herself, she unzipped the sweater too and pulled it down her arms, not fully off but not quite on either. Beneath it, she was wearing a rather tight shirt which revealed her slender arms and the fair skin of her midriff. I was caught completely off-guard by her drastic change of apparel. She shivered a bit and rubber her shoulders.
I sat there speechless, transfixed by her beauty. Her skin was so... perfect. Not a single scar marred her arms, her stomach, her neck, or anything. I realized I must have been staring, and turned a way just a bit too quickly.
"It's okay," she said softly, pulling her coat back on. "I wanted you to see that, since... I mean, you were so up front with me and... but not in a bad way, and... I guess I could've just told you outright..." She stared at the table a bit too pointedly.
I smiled to myself. At least I wasn't the only one who was bad at this.
...
That was three years ago, back when life was so much simpler. Back before the diagnosis, before the painful treatments which dragged on into weeks and then months. Before we learned about the cancer that was eating away, slowly but surely, at her brain.
The doctors told us nothing could be done. They could treat her, give her drugs to ease the suffering and ultimately the transition, but she was never going to get better. They said she would be... gone... within a few months. I stared at them like a hawk as they spoke, scrutinizing every inch of skin as I processed each sentence, but no Scars came. It was the truth.
We were both left to ask why it had to be her.
She grew irritable and lashed out, though I could hardly blame her. They said it was pressing on her brain, altering her mood and her thoughts. I'm not ashamed to admit that I bawled my eyes out when I first heard the news. But I had to be strong, I had to keep going. I had to be a rock, no matter how hard that would be.
As her time in the hospital grew, so did the doses they gave her. On one of her worse nights, I sat there with her as she tried to process all the built up frustration. I could see in her eyes that she didn't fully recognize me, a look I would never grow used to.
With no other outlet, she turned it on me.
"Why did this have to happen?" she suddenly screamed at me, choking back a sob. Tears streamed down her cheeks. "I... I hate you!"
For a moment, neither of us said anything. We sat in near silence, interrupted only by the occasional sob. I watched her somberly, not daring to react. And that's when I saw it.
A large pool of blood soaked into her hospital gown, just above her heart. The only Scar she would ever have.
...
Thanks for reading!
-ShutainzuGeito | No one knew who he was. I certainly did not. We had all had several cuts on our bodies over our lifespans. My cuts went deep and had riddled my face ugly and my body full of scars.
But when we saw him... we were amazed.
Just one scar, one scar that ran his lips. It was like a laughing line, like he had cut it himself... but he wouldn't have. Why would someone give themselves such a hideous deformity?
I watched him as he came to our town. His scar dug deep into his jaw, sliding all the way up to nearly his ears. Like when he spoke, he was almost a puppet flapping its mouth.
I kept my eyes fixated on him, just staring.
He moved in next door to me and I could hear him howling with laughter in the night. It scared me, but more thrilled.
I wanted to know why he had that scar... I wanted to figure out what he had hidden.
I snuck into his house one night, waiting for him to come home. But all I heard when his footsteps came into the hall of the apartment floor, was scraping and crackling.
I pulled my gun closer to my arms. I wasn't going to kill him, but I felt the feeling that he was going to aim directly at me.
A scar that deep usually meant murder. It was a very cold world we lived in.
No essence of good... no essence of even a conscience. We didn't care who saw our scars. Some of us even would tell the story behind the terrible lies we had made in pubs and parties.
When I saw his doorknob turn, I swallowed, and aimed the gun to the door.
I could hear the sound of cackling and the man only whispered out on the other side.
"Hello John..."
I froze. The gun dropped out of my hand in horror and just as it did the door opened, the gun flipped up to my chin by its own power and shot right across my scratched up face.
I scampered back in the seat, terrified as the forever laughing scarred smile man looked at me. His black eyes glinting and I blubbered out.
"Who, are you...?"
"Who do you think I am?"
"The devil!"
He winked at me, nodding his head and I gasped. I was only cussing at him, but he seemed so sure of himself it scared me to bits.
He would've gotten a scar then if he had lied, but he hadn't.
I asked him, as I saw the gun levitate in the air and fly into his hand. He pointed it at me and smiled his giant scarred smile.
"What did you do... to get only one scar...?"
I wanted to know before I died, needed to have an answer and he just crooked his head, laughing at me as he slowly began to press his finger down on the trigger.
"I made the whole world believe I didn't exist."
Lights out a second later.
My brains sprayed against the wall. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | "Anything else?" the waitress asked me, as she smacked a cup of coffee on the table somewhat carelessly. I think her name was Darla. I shook my head a bit and watched her saunter back to the counter out of the corner of my eye. I knew she had judged me from the moment she saw me. She had given me the same look most everyone else does. It's funny how someone marked and nicked with little white scars on her hands and arms and neck and legs can look down on me for having more of them. To be fair to - whatever her name was... - Darla- ...to be fair to Darla, and to everyone else, I do have lots and lots of little scars. I looked out to the window to my right at a lamp post that illuminated the darkened streets. This was as asleep as the city gets at night.
I started my scar collection as a kid. My mother meant well and might've been a decent parent if she didn't spend her days swigging vodka. My dad was never in the picture. A military man, apparently, who had to move to a base in Europe before I was born, although looking back I'm sure that wasn't true. My mother, now she had a lot of scars. A scar for every time she was going to quit drinking and "do right by me."
The first scar I remember scratching its way onto my skin was when I was probably four or five. My teacher had asked me if I was going to be ok. My mother hadn't come to pick me up which was a semi-frequent event, and I had gotten up to walk home - I lived a 20-minute walk or so away from the school so it wasn't a problem for me. He asked me if I was going to have dinner at home, and I lied. I told him we were having company over and my mom probably just lost track of time cooking this big meal for us all. I don't even know why I lied about it because it was a pointless lie, but I felt the sting on the back of my shoulder as the words left my lips.
Over the years the lies I told people, the lies I told my mother created a tapestry of scar tissue across my body. Sometimes I just wanted to get away from the house and I'd tell her I was staying with a friend. The marks were inconsequential to me.
I'm a journalist now - a failed one - there's no use lying to you. It's funny really because none of my scars ever came from anything I've ever written. I'm stupid; I use my lies on bullshit, instead of making money.
I looked down at my coffee and heard Darla telling a couple large patrons at the counter that she was planning on going back to school soon. I wondered if she got a scar for that or if she really meant it. It didn't really matter to me. I'm not interested in the lies people tell others. That's easy. It's recorded in the history of your body like the rings of a tree and even though they fade over time, more will always take their place - we can't help ourselves. No, what interests me are the lies people tell themselves. When people put makeup over their scars to cover up as many as they can, do they look into the mirror and pretend they are honest?
A bell rang as the door opened. I glanced to my left and saw a young man walk in. And I froze.
"Go ahead and sit where you'd like," Darla yelled out cheerily. "I'll be with you in just a sec."
The newcomer walked towards a back booth, and my eyes stayed fixed on him the entire time. His skin was unmarred by any scar or blemish. I had looked over his face and neck and forearms, and not a mark there was on them. Bullshit. Everyone lies. That is the only consistent truth I have ever known, and I've known that as far back as my memory extends. Everyone is a liar - that is a universal truth. It's the universal truth. I found myself rising out of my seat. My feet carried me towards the man in the back, quickening with each step. My heart pounded.
"Let me see your arms," I managed to squeeze out as I gripped his arm and turned it. My voice was nervous. I quickly jumped to the other arms and hurriedly looked it over. I rubbed his arm spastically to remove any makeup - but there was nothing. I looked up at his face. His eyes were those of a deer's caught in a headlight. What I was doing was crazy, I knew that. I had grabbed a random stranger but he couldn't be this honest. It wasn't possible.
"Where are your scars?" I demanded. He was still taken aback. "Where are they?" I repeated a little more forcefully.
"I- what scars?" he stammered out.
I felt a surge of anger rise up in me.
"Where are your fucking scars!" I yelled at the man and grabbed his shirt at his shoulders. His shocked silence only made me angrier. In an instant, I whipped his shirt up and dumbfoundedly stepped back. The entire front of his torso was one giant mass of scarred flesh.
"How are they all there?" I breathed out. "That can't be from one lie..."
He looked hurt.
"There was an accident," he said dejectedly.
"Bullshit!" I shot back. That was a lie everyone with an exceptional scar tried to get away with. That it wasn't from a lie, but some physical injury instead. I'd heard that one before. Sometimes a new mark was worth keeping the truth in the dark. But there was no new mark. I scanned over his body.
"How did that happen?"
"It was an accident!" he retorted, anger now growing in his voice. "There was a fire in my building! People died...and I was lucky enough to only be left with this at the end of the night."
I looked over his body and watched as no new scars carved their way in. He threw his shirt back down and was clearly angry now. I stepped backward. The diner was silent. I could feel everyone's eyes on me. The man I accosted threw some money on the table and slid out of his booth. He moved passed me and I watched as the only honest man I had ever known walked out of the door. I was brought crashing back down to reality. I glanced towards the counter and saw the two patrons and the waitress staring at me. I walked back to my table and left some money there before walking out the door. I made it a few steps down the sidewalk before my legs went weak. I sat down on the curb and cried.
It was only six months later when I saw the man's face again. This time on the news. His name was Robert Lewis, and he had been arrested for arson. He had set a fire in his apartment building that apparently grew out of control and wound up killing six people and sending dozens more to the hospital. He had been found there lying in the smoke by first responders. But here's the kicker. He hadn't suffered any burns when they found him. That scar only appeared after he had been questioned about the fire by a couple other firefighters before the cops even spoke to him. It took them a couple weeks to realize what happened and then months to find the guy.
Everyone is a liar. He was just better at telling half truths.
Edit: Grammatical | No one knew who he was. I certainly did not. We had all had several cuts on our bodies over our lifespans. My cuts went deep and had riddled my face ugly and my body full of scars.
But when we saw him... we were amazed.
Just one scar, one scar that ran his lips. It was like a laughing line, like he had cut it himself... but he wouldn't have. Why would someone give themselves such a hideous deformity?
I watched him as he came to our town. His scar dug deep into his jaw, sliding all the way up to nearly his ears. Like when he spoke, he was almost a puppet flapping its mouth.
I kept my eyes fixated on him, just staring.
He moved in next door to me and I could hear him howling with laughter in the night. It scared me, but more thrilled.
I wanted to know why he had that scar... I wanted to figure out what he had hidden.
I snuck into his house one night, waiting for him to come home. But all I heard when his footsteps came into the hall of the apartment floor, was scraping and crackling.
I pulled my gun closer to my arms. I wasn't going to kill him, but I felt the feeling that he was going to aim directly at me.
A scar that deep usually meant murder. It was a very cold world we lived in.
No essence of good... no essence of even a conscience. We didn't care who saw our scars. Some of us even would tell the story behind the terrible lies we had made in pubs and parties.
When I saw his doorknob turn, I swallowed, and aimed the gun to the door.
I could hear the sound of cackling and the man only whispered out on the other side.
"Hello John..."
I froze. The gun dropped out of my hand in horror and just as it did the door opened, the gun flipped up to my chin by its own power and shot right across my scratched up face.
I scampered back in the seat, terrified as the forever laughing scarred smile man looked at me. His black eyes glinting and I blubbered out.
"Who, are you...?"
"Who do you think I am?"
"The devil!"
He winked at me, nodding his head and I gasped. I was only cussing at him, but he seemed so sure of himself it scared me to bits.
He would've gotten a scar then if he had lied, but he hadn't.
I asked him, as I saw the gun levitate in the air and fly into his hand. He pointed it at me and smiled his giant scarred smile.
"What did you do... to get only one scar...?"
I wanted to know before I died, needed to have an answer and he just crooked his head, laughing at me as he slowly began to press his finger down on the trigger.
"I made the whole world believe I didn't exist."
Lights out a second later.
My brains sprayed against the wall. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | It's a mad world
Nowadays you are asked to take your clothes off in a job interview for god's sake, even in court in some countries, I mean come on sometimes you actually need to lie goddamnit sometimes it actually does some real good but it literally scars you for life...
I have my fair number of scars, mostly very light ones , I can take my shirt off when I go to the beach without most of them showing , heck I can have sex with a girl and they won't notice most, the more necessary you felt that the lie was the better hidden the scar is, so most of mine are in addition to very light on ... convenient spots. I have scars on the back of my thighs, I have two behind my ears, I have some on my armpits . I once heard of a guy who had one on his penis , it turns out how you feel about the lie makes a huge difference in what scar it will leave you and where, just imagine that guy getting undressed in front of a woman , or man whatever he is into anyway. Well at least some girls say scars are sexy, or so I’ve heard.
You do get used to it but still... I once had a pretty long conversation with a war veteran about scars , now that was scarring. He took he shirt off to show me his body he was FULL. I first noticed two bullets scars , didn't think I could recognize them but damn do they look different. The bullet scars though , they were nice compared to the rest , they were in battle defending his country but the rest of his body was more scar tissue than actual skin, there were spots where I couldn't even make out how many scars he had. They formed one big pile of butchered up skin. During our conversation I found out that he actually got all the visible scars he had on his upper body in a single week , he was taken as a prisoner of war and trust me , the only countries that actually give even a single flying fuck about the Geneva convention are the ones that have already won the war. Long story short , pretty much all the scars were from the lies he told trying to lead the enemies away while they were torturing him instead of giving them real information , it's mad how they can torture you into treachery without leaving a scar on your body. It is true though , EVERYONE breaks given enough time.
The war veteran story is my go-to example on why we shouldn't judge people by their scars. There is a whole other story that I just can't get myself to tell. Too goddamn sad , well probably not so when you just hear it as a story but you were not there talking with him you did not see the sorrow and the chaos on his face.
His name was George. In my country he have to serve in the military , mandatory service . The military of course is purely defensive and the service is easier than professional militaries naturally. George was pretty much the nicest guy we all knew , he would never even lie. There had been a few occasions where others were mad at him because he would tell our officers about anything they asked and being the military there were consequences , he really , actually never lied. We also noticed after a couple of months that even though most would get out of bath completely naked since we were only men, he would get in and out always wearing a t-shirt, and whenever he had to change his t-shirt without taking a bath he hid, went to the bathroom or was alone someway. We all wondered but we thought that he just lied without us noticing and wanted to hide his scars , all the others still believe that but I know.
George and I became friends over time. We would go out for a drink , we would even go to the gym or for a run together sometimes. The park where we run was closer to his home so one day when it started raining he told me to come take a shower at his place, he'd lend me some clothes and drive me home. He let me get in to take a shower first. I got in finished my shower and got out, he went in right after me. Seconds after he got in I realized a left my shoes in the bathroom and I sweat a lot so my shoes get smelly so I wanted to get them to the balcony. Being used to it from my service, who we had both finished some months prior to that day, where we didn't really care if someone saw us naked I just opened the door and went in without knocking. God I wish I hadn't.
I saw George's back as he was getting in the shower, he just froze as he saw the awe in my face when I stared at his single scar, one single scar in the entirety of his body , it was a huge scar spanning diagonally on his whole back , it was so large it reminded me of video game characters , and so deep I thought it was see-through where the skin met the spine. I just looked at him and he knew, he got a look that was stuck in his face for the rest of the week and just said "Let me finish my shower and I'll explain".
And so he finished , and so he explained , and so I was moved , then I processed what he said and I was devastated , and then I thought about it once more and I started to cry , then he let go and started to cry even more than I did.
It was one of the saddest stories I had ever heard. Until you are 13-16 depending on the person you get no scars from lying, I mean come on who doesn’t lie as a kid. One day you wake up with an already fainted scar across your whole face which goes away in a day or two and that is how you know you now get scars from lying. So George was relatively lucky as he got his initiation scar a couple of weeks after he became sixteen.
When George was 14 his mother got cancer. His 3 years younger sister got cancer too a year later, while his father had died in an accident when George was 9. His mother was given a 60% chance of getting rid of the cancer for good at the beginning with chemotherapy. She didn’t. A month after she learned that her cancer got too spread to be completely stopped, her daughter got cancer too. George said the doctor believed that his mother must have been exposed to radiation when pregnant with his sister else it was just a very tragic coincidence that they both got cancer in such a small time interval with his sister at such a young age.
George’s mother stopped chemotherapy just before he became 15 since the doctor said it wouldn’t help anymore. His sister was never given much chance, a mere 10% that chemotherapy would even do anything.
His mother couldn’t get out of bed just before George turned 16. At the same time the doctor told his sister that chemotherapy couldn’t do anything anymore and that she was giving her about another year and 6 to 8 months in a “good enough” health.
Naturally George and his sister wanted their mother to die knowing her daughter at least would survive. So they thought they’d lie to her, tell her that her daughter was getting better. George learned how to do makeup and helped his sister so she would seem in good health no matter what happened. They told their mum that even though she had gotten past cancer she started paying attention to the details of life and that she wanted to start putting on make up to look better and her being 13 at the time her mother believed her.
And so George kept lying, with a lie that started a few weeks after he got his first scar, he kept saying the same lie to his mother everyday. His mother got worse and so did his sister. His mother died 6 months after George got 16 years old, his sister one month after that, the doctor predicted wrong. The last two months that their mother was alive his sister couldn’t get out of bed and so every day he lied to his mother that his sister had to study , or that she didn’t get a very good grade on a test and didn’t want to disappoint her , or that she went out with friends whenever his mother asked why his sister didn't visit much. On the days his sister was feeling better she put on make-up, gathered all her strength and walked enough to go sit beside her mother’s bed. And so George kept lying so that his mother would die happy, every day for hours each day he lied to his dying mother that his dying sister was well, a few weeks before the end he told her that his sister had gotten fully rid of her tumor while his sister would faint trying to get up and see her mother. And George kept lying even the last few days when his mother could hardly see or talk and asked to see her daughter, so George said that she went abroad in a school program for students good in literature related subjects and she called him to relay her love for her mother to her, while she was in the hospital 20 meters away on the same floor, hanging on to life by a thread. Then his mother died and he couldn’t lie anymore, his sister died and he could hardly feel like he could live anymore.
All that left him with one big scar, the same lie being told over and over and over again devastating him even more each time, killing him inside and out a bit more each time creating a scar that would never heal. Creating a scar that was bigger than anyone I and maybe anyone else living on this godforsaken planet has ever seen. Creating a scar that made every other evil, obstacle or problem seem redundant, turning George into the best person I had ever known, into the best person anyone that met him had ever known.
It’s a mad world , and it’s mad to judge people by their scars , some carry them with sorrow , some with pride , some with regret some with happiness , some only need one , some have none , some can’t seem to get enough.
.
This is my first ever prompt , pretty much the first story i've ever written to be honest ( outside of school of course). Feedback is appreciated
Also sorry if it got too sad too fast in the end I was listening to Tears in Heaven by Eric Clapton when I started writing , a very sad song who I only found out about yesterday, worth a listen.
Edit: So I'm done with changes to the story , may edit in the future if I find any spelling or grammar mistakes | No one knew who he was. I certainly did not. We had all had several cuts on our bodies over our lifespans. My cuts went deep and had riddled my face ugly and my body full of scars.
But when we saw him... we were amazed.
Just one scar, one scar that ran his lips. It was like a laughing line, like he had cut it himself... but he wouldn't have. Why would someone give themselves such a hideous deformity?
I watched him as he came to our town. His scar dug deep into his jaw, sliding all the way up to nearly his ears. Like when he spoke, he was almost a puppet flapping its mouth.
I kept my eyes fixated on him, just staring.
He moved in next door to me and I could hear him howling with laughter in the night. It scared me, but more thrilled.
I wanted to know why he had that scar... I wanted to figure out what he had hidden.
I snuck into his house one night, waiting for him to come home. But all I heard when his footsteps came into the hall of the apartment floor, was scraping and crackling.
I pulled my gun closer to my arms. I wasn't going to kill him, but I felt the feeling that he was going to aim directly at me.
A scar that deep usually meant murder. It was a very cold world we lived in.
No essence of good... no essence of even a conscience. We didn't care who saw our scars. Some of us even would tell the story behind the terrible lies we had made in pubs and parties.
When I saw his doorknob turn, I swallowed, and aimed the gun to the door.
I could hear the sound of cackling and the man only whispered out on the other side.
"Hello John..."
I froze. The gun dropped out of my hand in horror and just as it did the door opened, the gun flipped up to my chin by its own power and shot right across my scratched up face.
I scampered back in the seat, terrified as the forever laughing scarred smile man looked at me. His black eyes glinting and I blubbered out.
"Who, are you...?"
"Who do you think I am?"
"The devil!"
He winked at me, nodding his head and I gasped. I was only cussing at him, but he seemed so sure of himself it scared me to bits.
He would've gotten a scar then if he had lied, but he hadn't.
I asked him, as I saw the gun levitate in the air and fly into his hand. He pointed it at me and smiled his giant scarred smile.
"What did you do... to get only one scar...?"
I wanted to know before I died, needed to have an answer and he just crooked his head, laughing at me as he slowly began to press his finger down on the trigger.
"I made the whole world believe I didn't exist."
Lights out a second later.
My brains sprayed against the wall. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | My deepest cut? Easy. Upper right hip, curving from almost my navel to my asscrack. It's an unusual, but fortunately concealed, spot for me; usually I'm an arm guy, so my parents always dressed me in tshirts, for conveniences sake when asking if I'd done my homework. You'd think they'd have figured it out, after I was held back a grade...
But this chick. Now, I'm a man who knows what I like. Short, curly hair, sundresses, enough scars to show a wild side, few enough scars that I know I won't get a 'git-scar. Happened to one of my buddies once; after his girlfriend found out his "I'm not cheating on you" mark was hidden under his beard, she cut more than hair in taking it off. I told him dating a girl with skin textured like prairie grass was bad news, but he just couldn't resist the crazies. Birds of a feather, I suppose...
But back to this girl. She had it all. The dress. The hair. The... scar. Some chicks hide them, some showcase them. She was a shower, and damn, did she have a lot to show. The dress had to be custom tailored, for it framed and flattered the deep colors of the scar along her back perfectly. But other than that... flawless. Already I longed to stroke her smooth arms, kiss her milky neck, lift up her already short dress...
I approached, and distracted by the juxtaposition of beauty and destruction, went with the lamest, most common of openings. I gestured towards her. "That's quite the display. Is it 'git?"
Her laughter, as expected, sounded like the tinkling of bells. "But of course it's legit!" she said. "It was a tragic accident..." she looked solemn, for a moment, as if getting lost in a painful memory, but then her smile, refreshing as a spring shower, returned. "Though of course, that might not be the case. After all, I only ever speak in lies." | No one knew who he was. I certainly did not. We had all had several cuts on our bodies over our lifespans. My cuts went deep and had riddled my face ugly and my body full of scars.
But when we saw him... we were amazed.
Just one scar, one scar that ran his lips. It was like a laughing line, like he had cut it himself... but he wouldn't have. Why would someone give themselves such a hideous deformity?
I watched him as he came to our town. His scar dug deep into his jaw, sliding all the way up to nearly his ears. Like when he spoke, he was almost a puppet flapping its mouth.
I kept my eyes fixated on him, just staring.
He moved in next door to me and I could hear him howling with laughter in the night. It scared me, but more thrilled.
I wanted to know why he had that scar... I wanted to figure out what he had hidden.
I snuck into his house one night, waiting for him to come home. But all I heard when his footsteps came into the hall of the apartment floor, was scraping and crackling.
I pulled my gun closer to my arms. I wasn't going to kill him, but I felt the feeling that he was going to aim directly at me.
A scar that deep usually meant murder. It was a very cold world we lived in.
No essence of good... no essence of even a conscience. We didn't care who saw our scars. Some of us even would tell the story behind the terrible lies we had made in pubs and parties.
When I saw his doorknob turn, I swallowed, and aimed the gun to the door.
I could hear the sound of cackling and the man only whispered out on the other side.
"Hello John..."
I froze. The gun dropped out of my hand in horror and just as it did the door opened, the gun flipped up to my chin by its own power and shot right across my scratched up face.
I scampered back in the seat, terrified as the forever laughing scarred smile man looked at me. His black eyes glinting and I blubbered out.
"Who, are you...?"
"Who do you think I am?"
"The devil!"
He winked at me, nodding his head and I gasped. I was only cussing at him, but he seemed so sure of himself it scared me to bits.
He would've gotten a scar then if he had lied, but he hadn't.
I asked him, as I saw the gun levitate in the air and fly into his hand. He pointed it at me and smiled his giant scarred smile.
"What did you do... to get only one scar...?"
I wanted to know before I died, needed to have an answer and he just crooked his head, laughing at me as he slowly began to press his finger down on the trigger.
"I made the whole world believe I didn't exist."
Lights out a second later.
My brains sprayed against the wall. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | You want to know how I got these scars?
Well, for one thing they aren’t ‘scars’, if you look closely you’ll see it’s one continuous scar that travels around my face, neck, down my body, all around wrapping itself around my arms, legs, fingers and toes.
The only part of my body that isn’t scarred tissue is the inside of my body and even a bit of my mouth is still scarred.
So the correct question you want to ask is how did I get this scar?
Singular.
Well, you know that old saying? About how a girl likes a guy with scars? It shows they’re a bad boy, that they kick a lot of ass or in my case lie.
I didn’t kick anyone’s ass or get into a big crash, I lied.
That’s pretty much what happened.
I suppose you’ll want specifics.
Well, years ago back when I was unblemished, face filled with pimples and a voice that didn’t quite want to go low I had a crush on a girl.
A pretty girl, one that seemed to really like me with not a scar on her body as far as I could tell! So when she told me she loved me I believed her totally and without reservation.
We went out, kissed and eventually I did find she had scars. I won’t share the details of how I found out but I’m sure your imagination can fill in the blanks. Anyways, her scars, they were here and there. Small ones mostly with two or three medium sized ones. I asked her about them and she told me she didn’t want to talk about them. She seemed ashamed.
I wanted to tell her that she was human, that everyone had scars.
Then she looked at me and asked if I had any?
Well, I didn’t but I didn’t want her to feel bad so I said yes.
Next thing I knew I felt something scratch my arm and there it was. A scar.
Now that should’ve been the end of that but here’s the weird thing. It then sorta vanished. Then came back twice as bad as it realized I was sorta telling the truth but lying at the same time.
It couldn’t decide what to do.
So it just kept going.
So here I was with my girlfriend in front of me with my eyes wide in horror as the scar kept scratching me, fading and growing again. By the time it all stopped I was still screaming. Honestly I had no idea when I started.
And now we’re married.
| No one knew who he was. I certainly did not. We had all had several cuts on our bodies over our lifespans. My cuts went deep and had riddled my face ugly and my body full of scars.
But when we saw him... we were amazed.
Just one scar, one scar that ran his lips. It was like a laughing line, like he had cut it himself... but he wouldn't have. Why would someone give themselves such a hideous deformity?
I watched him as he came to our town. His scar dug deep into his jaw, sliding all the way up to nearly his ears. Like when he spoke, he was almost a puppet flapping its mouth.
I kept my eyes fixated on him, just staring.
He moved in next door to me and I could hear him howling with laughter in the night. It scared me, but more thrilled.
I wanted to know why he had that scar... I wanted to figure out what he had hidden.
I snuck into his house one night, waiting for him to come home. But all I heard when his footsteps came into the hall of the apartment floor, was scraping and crackling.
I pulled my gun closer to my arms. I wasn't going to kill him, but I felt the feeling that he was going to aim directly at me.
A scar that deep usually meant murder. It was a very cold world we lived in.
No essence of good... no essence of even a conscience. We didn't care who saw our scars. Some of us even would tell the story behind the terrible lies we had made in pubs and parties.
When I saw his doorknob turn, I swallowed, and aimed the gun to the door.
I could hear the sound of cackling and the man only whispered out on the other side.
"Hello John..."
I froze. The gun dropped out of my hand in horror and just as it did the door opened, the gun flipped up to my chin by its own power and shot right across my scratched up face.
I scampered back in the seat, terrified as the forever laughing scarred smile man looked at me. His black eyes glinting and I blubbered out.
"Who, are you...?"
"Who do you think I am?"
"The devil!"
He winked at me, nodding his head and I gasped. I was only cussing at him, but he seemed so sure of himself it scared me to bits.
He would've gotten a scar then if he had lied, but he hadn't.
I asked him, as I saw the gun levitate in the air and fly into his hand. He pointed it at me and smiled his giant scarred smile.
"What did you do... to get only one scar...?"
I wanted to know before I died, needed to have an answer and he just crooked his head, laughing at me as he slowly began to press his finger down on the trigger.
"I made the whole world believe I didn't exist."
Lights out a second later.
My brains sprayed against the wall. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | The subway rattled it's syncopated song, barumm...bum, bum...barumm...bum, bum...barumm...bum, bum. About twenty lonely people swayed back and forth in harmony within the car. There are usually a few homeless people at this hour. One typically sat in the far back corner, asleep.
But tonight there was just a guy with puffy eyes in a white tee shirt with sleeves that came to around the middle of his bicep. He was thin, but not sickeningly so, moderately handsome, and utterly defeated judging by his posture. His most striking feature of all was a newly formed slash down his forearm. The largest I've ever seen, by far. Still wet, they would say. His second most striking feature was the absence of any other scars.
Now usually, you get at least a few scars growing up. It's kind of like touching a burner as a kid. You just have to learn from experience. You might tell a fib at school about homework, and pets that have suddenly acquired an appetite for homework, and you collect a few scars along the way. I sure as hell did at least.
But this guy had to have made it all the way here, in New York City of all places, without telling a single lie. Well, until today. I was intrigued. I mean, how could you not be? He was Mother-freaking-Teresa, but even she probably failed to disclose the secret location of her breadbasket base every now and then. "Dantooine...they're all on Dantooine," she might have said.
I approached, with caution. I recognize this was selfish of me, but maybe the guy needed someone to talk to.
"Hey, man. You doing ok?" I said, conveying empathy the best my socially awkward self could manage.
"Yeah," the kid, who I just realized was only about 26, if that, said with such brevity that he may as well said nothing at all.
"Look, I don't usually intrude on people's private affairs. It's just, usually a homeless guy who goes by Squirrel sits where you are now and I don't think the strongest constitution in the bowel department, if you get my meaning."
The kid smiled at least, wiping his right eye with his scarless forearm, and moved to the bench seat next to where I was standing. "I'm John," he said.
"Hi John, it's a pleasure. I'm Matt." I sat down next to him. "Maybe if you tell me about your day, you will be distracted enough to forget it."
"I guess we aren't really going anywhere, are we." The doors to the subway car opened to dump out about half its contents. Those left in the car were otherwise enthralled in their phones or their headphones. "How many more stops do you have?"
"Twelve."
"Me too." He looked around the car, as the doors closed and the car lurched forward with the same barumm...bum, bum...barumm...bum, bum. I guess he adjudged the car private enough, so he began his story.
It all started with a girl. Imagine that. "Ah, to be young again," I thought. Brown hair, decent looks, and smart, he said. He had dated her for four years. They had graduated college together, fallen in love, and moved in to a too-small-but-hey-we-are-achieving-our-dreams-and-living-in-the-big-city-oh-look-a-dead-rat-its-nothing-we-will-get-used-to-it apartment. They even got one of those stupid plant holders that hang out of window sills. You know the ones that kill about eight people a year in a city like the Big Apple.
John had been the perfect boyfriend to Sally. He got her cute gifts that were within his budget, but not too within his budget, and he was nice to all of her friends. He even took her to a Giants game or two. Hell, he even ended up on the big screen for a kiss that ended up being televised on WFAN because of the quirky way he tossed the popcorn aside and did one of those "back from the war" kisses.
They even got engaged.
But last year, Sally was diagnosed with a cognitive disorder that changed her behavior. Sally was never the same again. She had flashes of anger, where she would insult John and his family. She would talk of other guys she had been with in the past, when she never did that before. She would even compare John to other guys that they had been around, telling him why they were better than him. This went on for a year.
She demeaned him to the point of no return, yet he remained there with her. John kept her medication in order and cooked for her, because processes were lost at that point. After Sally lost control of her colon he cleaned their Murphy Bed in their too-small-but-hey-we-are-achieving-our-dreams-and-living-in-the-big-city-oh-look-a-dead-rat-its-nothing-we-will-get-used-to-it apartment. He sat with her in the hospital for two weeks and lost his accounting job due to it. He was there today when she died.
Sally had looked up at him within her last hour and said she remembered the day they watched a dog in Central Park on a long leash literally wrap its owner up "101 Dalmatians" style and drag him a few yards. They laughed aloud, heads back like Peanuts characters, like they had many times before Sally became ill. She looked up at John, with tears welling in her eyes. For a brief moment, the old Sally was there.
"I love you," she said.
"I love you, too," he replied. | No one knew who he was. I certainly did not. We had all had several cuts on our bodies over our lifespans. My cuts went deep and had riddled my face ugly and my body full of scars.
But when we saw him... we were amazed.
Just one scar, one scar that ran his lips. It was like a laughing line, like he had cut it himself... but he wouldn't have. Why would someone give themselves such a hideous deformity?
I watched him as he came to our town. His scar dug deep into his jaw, sliding all the way up to nearly his ears. Like when he spoke, he was almost a puppet flapping its mouth.
I kept my eyes fixated on him, just staring.
He moved in next door to me and I could hear him howling with laughter in the night. It scared me, but more thrilled.
I wanted to know why he had that scar... I wanted to figure out what he had hidden.
I snuck into his house one night, waiting for him to come home. But all I heard when his footsteps came into the hall of the apartment floor, was scraping and crackling.
I pulled my gun closer to my arms. I wasn't going to kill him, but I felt the feeling that he was going to aim directly at me.
A scar that deep usually meant murder. It was a very cold world we lived in.
No essence of good... no essence of even a conscience. We didn't care who saw our scars. Some of us even would tell the story behind the terrible lies we had made in pubs and parties.
When I saw his doorknob turn, I swallowed, and aimed the gun to the door.
I could hear the sound of cackling and the man only whispered out on the other side.
"Hello John..."
I froze. The gun dropped out of my hand in horror and just as it did the door opened, the gun flipped up to my chin by its own power and shot right across my scratched up face.
I scampered back in the seat, terrified as the forever laughing scarred smile man looked at me. His black eyes glinting and I blubbered out.
"Who, are you...?"
"Who do you think I am?"
"The devil!"
He winked at me, nodding his head and I gasped. I was only cussing at him, but he seemed so sure of himself it scared me to bits.
He would've gotten a scar then if he had lied, but he hadn't.
I asked him, as I saw the gun levitate in the air and fly into his hand. He pointed it at me and smiled his giant scarred smile.
"What did you do... to get only one scar...?"
I wanted to know before I died, needed to have an answer and he just crooked his head, laughing at me as he slowly began to press his finger down on the trigger.
"I made the whole world believe I didn't exist."
Lights out a second later.
My brains sprayed against the wall. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | I met Mark in a coffee shop. I couldn't say it was love at first sight, but he was a real head turner, everywhere he went one or two people did a double take. I've never been one for conventional beauty, but my God, his skin. He was in his late 30s, but he had the perfect skin of a newborn child. He didn't have the scratches everyone else our age did. I had never seen a man like him, maybe a few models on billboards, but we all know they take a decently honest man and photoshop him into a saint.
I was intimidated, but just a second after I spoke to him, he interrupted me. He told me he thought I was beautiful, and I knew a man like this couldn't throw that out to every woman he meets. From then on it was like a dream, he was just perfect.
Yet, everywhere we went, I could feel the looming questions. All of them as they turned their heads away, trying to pretend they weren't staring, all thinking "Why her?", "How can someone like him trust someone like her?", or "Relationships like theirs never work". I know because I had thought the same things about similar couples, and never had the difference been so stark.
At first, I laid my makeup on thicker and thicker, every time we went out I felt like I wore a mask. He noticed this, and reassured me it didn't matter what everyone else thought, Mark told me "Mary, this is about us, not them. I trust you. I know your an even better person than I am, a few lies don't make you any less of a person". In time I relaxed my makeup, I even wore less than most people.
I had always been rather conservative, but with him, I was hesitant to get physical for an entirely different reason. I know he said he didn't care about my scars, and I know he believed that, but I feared what he would think when he saw me laid bare, saw the scars that blanketed me. Mostly the little scratches that everyone has, but I had a few nasty ones. I had a 5 inch one across my stomach, that I desperately didn't want him to see, he'd ask me to explain it!
I got it in highschool, a friend I'd had since childhood had mugged a woman, things went wrong and he stabbed her. He ran back to our apartment building and told me the whole thing, how he left her there in the alley, in her own blood. I had known him since we were both four, I couldn't let him go to prison. When the police questioned me, I covered for him, I told them he had spent the whole night with me. When I heard the woman died, my scar ached, it grew longer. He left town not long after that, and I didn't keep in touch, I couldn't handle it. Before he left, I did see his scar. It was awful, it went the whole length of his forearm, not something you saw often, only on the news or on TV.
The idea of Mark seeing me nude terrified me, I told him so. I even asked him if we could do it in the dark, at least the first time. Maybe if he felt my skin before he saw it, then it wouldn't shock him so much. He was silent. He told me not to worry, he told me his skin wasnt perfect. He had a scar too. A scar.
It was supposed to make me feel better, but it only multiplied my self consciousness. Only one scar? That just wasn't possible. He reassured me, he told me no matter how many scars I had, that he wouldn't ask questions, that he would still love me.
I cried there in his arms. I knew he was telling the truth. I don't know how long it was, but with time and his comfort, I calmed down. We moved to the bed, him talking off my shirt. He wasn't fazed at all, by all the blemishes, by the lies of all my 34 years on this earth, more than most.
Then he removed his shirt.
It was terrible. I shouted at the sight of it. It ran from his right shoulder blade to the lower left side of his stomach. It was wide. It was deep. I was shaking, and I saw the hurt in his eyes.
"No, no" he said quickly. "I had a car crash" he said "three years ago".
A car crash? Yes! An injury! It had to be, he couldn't lie, he was the most honest man I had ever met, he never let a mistruth breach his lips. He had to be telling the truth now.
I embraced him. I hugged him tight. I never felt so relieved, I never felt so loved. I knew I had been completed, that I would spend the rest of my life with this man.
We kissed, long and deep. I ran my fingers through his hair and caressed his neck. There I felt it. A roughness. A single tiny scar, just behind his left ear. Had I just not noticed it before? We had only known each other four months, I had not felt every inch of his head. Maybe it was a single lie, from who knows when. Maybe it just another injury, a tiny nick from falling back and hitting his head. Maybe he didn't even know he had it.
We are getting married soon. I haven't asked him about his scar again. I wonder if maybe I should. Maybe I should measure that blemish behind his ear and see if it grows after I ask him.
| "I do". I told her this and fell silent. The wedding felt so small to me. My eyes wide, I felt it start to form. I had never lied before this. It was far more painful than I would have thought. Deep down my back I felt it start. It slowly raised higher and higher stopping right before my neck. I held back the pain. I didn't want her to see it. I couldn't. We had been together eight years now and it was my descision that we do this. I answered the question as honestly as I could. I didn't know I even had it in me to lie. I'd spent all night looking in the mirror repeating to myself to make sure, "I want this to happen, I need this to happen, my life has brought me here and I'm happy to go through with it". I don't know why in the moment it scarred me. It's like my body knew what my mind didnt. When I said "I do" I knew I had made a mistake.
"I don't get it, did you not truly love her. You seem pretty broken up about it and where even is she?" he questioned me.
I explained. We had gotten in a fight the day before the wedding, we were so harsh that she said maybe we should call the wedding off. I said that was silly and that we should talk the next day. The question I answered wasn't whether I would always "to have and to hold" or whatever they say. She asked if I wanted us to break up. I answered.
| |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | She said: "I'm Catholic, and for my first confession we were herded before the priest and told to tell him our sins. At seven years old, I knew I had to make something up or be punished for the sin of Satan, Pride."
That was the only time I couldn't tell the truth so, "'I'm a liar,'" I lied. | "I do". I told her this and fell silent. The wedding felt so small to me. My eyes wide, I felt it start to form. I had never lied before this. It was far more painful than I would have thought. Deep down my back I felt it start. It slowly raised higher and higher stopping right before my neck. I held back the pain. I didn't want her to see it. I couldn't. We had been together eight years now and it was my descision that we do this. I answered the question as honestly as I could. I didn't know I even had it in me to lie. I'd spent all night looking in the mirror repeating to myself to make sure, "I want this to happen, I need this to happen, my life has brought me here and I'm happy to go through with it". I don't know why in the moment it scarred me. It's like my body knew what my mind didnt. When I said "I do" I knew I had made a mistake.
"I don't get it, did you not truly love her. You seem pretty broken up about it and where even is she?" he questioned me.
I explained. We had gotten in a fight the day before the wedding, we were so harsh that she said maybe we should call the wedding off. I said that was silly and that we should talk the next day. The question I answered wasn't whether I would always "to have and to hold" or whatever they say. She asked if I wanted us to break up. I answered.
| |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | "Mr. Graves, are you certain your client has been telling the truth?" The voice of the judge cut through the room. I glanced up from my papers, and stood up, taking off my gloves and scarf.
The jury panel gasped a little bit when they saw my unscarred face and hands. More than a few looked jealous, but most merely looked impressed. I nodded. Good. I had affixed myself as a person who told the truth in their mind.
My client, meanwhile, was a mass of scars. They marred his face, hands, neck, biceps. A few of them were deep and ugly. He was staring at his handcuffed hands, looking despondent.
I cleared my throat. "Yes, your honor. And I intend to prove not only to you, but to the men and women of the jury that the evidence the state has not does not prove my client's innocence, but that the evidence proves his innocence!"
The jury mumbled amongst themselves as I launched into my opening statement.
---
"Thank you, Mr. Graves," my client said, grinning in my office, wearing his ratty yet comfortable clothes once again. "I thought I'd be locked up for good, but you... you pulled off a miracle. "
I smiled a little, straightening my posture and linking my fingers on the desk. "It wasn't me, Mr. Williams. It was your testimony that made the most compelling argument."
Williams smiled, the scars on his face stretching and distorting.
"Mr. Graves, you're a godsend. I can never thank you enough. I'm going to go and try and pull my life together."
There. A small little slice, right by his ear. It wasn't much, and he didn't notice it, and I didn't stare. No one deserved to be caught, especially in the lies they tell themselves.
Mr. Williams thanked me profusely, continued to make that same promise that tore open that scar a little more each time, then left.
When he was gone, I once again stood in the mirror in my office. I unbuttoned my shirt, allowing myself a wince as I opened the shirt a bit further. Yep, it was still there. The one scar that I had from telling myself the lie. The biggest lie I had ever told, and it was the only reason I was still around.
I took a deep breath, looked myself dead in the mirror, and mouthed the lie to myself.
The pain lanced through me as the scar re-opened once again, starting at my collarbone, opening up through my stomach, curling around my belly button, and immediately soaking my pant leg with blood as it ended somewhere in my inner thigh.
The pain had been enough to knock me out the first time I had told that lie. My parents had rushed me to the hospital. Now, all I did was grunt, set my teeth, and reach for the suture kit on the counter in front of me.
That lie hurt, even more each time I said it. But I had to let myself know I was okay. Even if it was a lie. | "I do". I told her this and fell silent. The wedding felt so small to me. My eyes wide, I felt it start to form. I had never lied before this. It was far more painful than I would have thought. Deep down my back I felt it start. It slowly raised higher and higher stopping right before my neck. I held back the pain. I didn't want her to see it. I couldn't. We had been together eight years now and it was my descision that we do this. I answered the question as honestly as I could. I didn't know I even had it in me to lie. I'd spent all night looking in the mirror repeating to myself to make sure, "I want this to happen, I need this to happen, my life has brought me here and I'm happy to go through with it". I don't know why in the moment it scarred me. It's like my body knew what my mind didnt. When I said "I do" I knew I had made a mistake.
"I don't get it, did you not truly love her. You seem pretty broken up about it and where even is she?" he questioned me.
I explained. We had gotten in a fight the day before the wedding, we were so harsh that she said maybe we should call the wedding off. I said that was silly and that we should talk the next day. The question I answered wasn't whether I would always "to have and to hold" or whatever they say. She asked if I wanted us to break up. I answered.
| |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | We lived side by side spending our days joined at the hips so much so people thought we were brothers. My skin was covered in them by the time I was 12 while he hadn’t got a single mark yet, I was slightly envious of his clear skin that impressed people for a boy his age. When I asked him how he did it, he simply shrugged and said anything was possible with a slight grin. His vague reply made me more jealous, sure I lied more than most kids my age but most of the lies were petty and insignificant that I didn’t think twice about. Plus, the marks I got didn’t hurt one bit so it just sorta added up after a while.
Then childhood ended and I moved away right before I started high-school. We didn’t really keep in contact with each other like how most kids promise but never do. It wasn’t any different with us, by the time my 20s came around he was just a hazy childhood friend I had all but forgotten about.
It was blistering hot that day, too hot to wear anything but short sleeves and pants. I hated wearing those types of clothes, while most people’s scars were skinny and faded into their skin. Mine had become more gashed and discolored as I grew older, I was one of the unlucky ones whose skin healed badly to these marks. Just genetics they told me.
I was walking back from the bus stop when I saw him in front of me, his clear pale skin devoid of any scars got my attention first before I saw his face. When I looked up at his face that’s when I recognized him, I called out his name and waved slightly at him. His face looked blank for a moment before lighting up in recognition as well. His pasty lips smiled at me and called me over, while we caught up all I could notice was how unblemished his arms and legs looked. Scars usually showed up first on your limbs before covering your whole body.
He must have noticed my gawking and laughed a bit before telling me to not trust your first impressions. I was confused by what he meant, but when I asked he just smiled a bit wider.
“Ben, I was actually kind of happy you were jealous of me when we were younger. In a way, I was just lucky they showed up in places where no one noticed.” He said to me, before turning his back and walking away before I could reply.
I noticed a painful red looking scar peeking out from the back of his neck and drops of red starting to stain his white shirt.
| "I do". I told her this and fell silent. The wedding felt so small to me. My eyes wide, I felt it start to form. I had never lied before this. It was far more painful than I would have thought. Deep down my back I felt it start. It slowly raised higher and higher stopping right before my neck. I held back the pain. I didn't want her to see it. I couldn't. We had been together eight years now and it was my descision that we do this. I answered the question as honestly as I could. I didn't know I even had it in me to lie. I'd spent all night looking in the mirror repeating to myself to make sure, "I want this to happen, I need this to happen, my life has brought me here and I'm happy to go through with it". I don't know why in the moment it scarred me. It's like my body knew what my mind didnt. When I said "I do" I knew I had made a mistake.
"I don't get it, did you not truly love her. You seem pretty broken up about it and where even is she?" he questioned me.
I explained. We had gotten in a fight the day before the wedding, we were so harsh that she said maybe we should call the wedding off. I said that was silly and that we should talk the next day. The question I answered wasn't whether I would always "to have and to hold" or whatever they say. She asked if I wanted us to break up. I answered.
| |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | We met at a bar one evening. She had a beer in her hand, something local on tap, about half-drained. We struck up some conversation - weather or sports or some such, I don't remember, small talk though. She made some passing comment about liking my ears, and I almost brushed it off as false praise - I think they stick out a bit too much - before I noticed her smooth skin; not a single scar visible.
I had my own fair share of lies cut into my skin - most minor, a few major. Even the bigger ones I'd usually defend, outside of a big one on my arm. "I've been clean for a year!". Even so, that's the least regretful mistake from that part of my life - I'm proud to say I can say that line now without the scar growing larger.
I got her name - Jane - and later, her number. We ended up setting up a date for the following weekend, and hit it off quickly. Similar interests - hiking, video games, cooking... Well, mostly same interests, anyway. I remember her coy smile when I said I liked her Coltrane collection, and a line of skin on my forearm darkened. Can't stand jazz, really.
I thought for about a month that she was perfectly honest, until we went to bed together. Jane seemed reluctant to take off her shirt, but that same honesty that kept her skin smooth must have demanded she not cover up now - her bra came off, and across the inside of her left breast was the deepest scar that I've ever seen. It wasn't a discoloration like most scars - it was like a knotted rope was underneath the skin.
It wasn't the sort of thing you can comment on lightly, but at the same time, it would be more conspicuous to ignore it. She was clearly distressed, waiting for my reaction. I wasn't sure what to say, but we were both naked at that point so there was no hoping that a lie would be covered up by clothing.
"There's obviously a story here, and I'm curious, but... Right now, it's not important. I'm willing to wait until you're willing to tell me on your own terms" I said, and punctuated the sentence with a kiss. She ran a hand through my short hair, and the encounter continued naturally after that. But frankly the details are none of your business.
It was another six months before I learned any more details about that scar of hers. We were quite serious by now, and I'd had plenty of opportunities to see it again at this point.
Jane told me that her parents were going to be coming by for Thanksgiving, and that she wanted me to be there. Her face was strangely tense, and when I pressed for information, she just said that she didn't feel up for explaining. What could I say to that? So, I didn't press the issue, and waited for Thursday to roll around.
Her parents showed up - her mother was a frumpy sort of woman, with a flowery dress, and her father was tall, but had a thick neck and a double chin. I was surprised the two of them could have produced such a beautiful daughter, but all the same I could see some resemblance, particularly in the eyes and nose.
The first thing I heard her father say - before even "hello" - was right after he jerked a thumb in my direction. "Is this that friend of yours? She looks like a fucking dyke." Her mother agreed emphatically. I found myself dumbstruck, unable to respond. Jane laughed uncomfortably, but her father didn't seem to notice - he was sniffing the air.
"Turkey's already on, eh? Surprised you haven't caught yourself a husband yet, with your cooking. Hah!"
"No luck yet, but I'm sure I'll find one one of these days." Jane replied with a weak smile, clearly hiding a wince as the scar above her heart wrought its way deeper into her skin. | "I do". I told her this and fell silent. The wedding felt so small to me. My eyes wide, I felt it start to form. I had never lied before this. It was far more painful than I would have thought. Deep down my back I felt it start. It slowly raised higher and higher stopping right before my neck. I held back the pain. I didn't want her to see it. I couldn't. We had been together eight years now and it was my descision that we do this. I answered the question as honestly as I could. I didn't know I even had it in me to lie. I'd spent all night looking in the mirror repeating to myself to make sure, "I want this to happen, I need this to happen, my life has brought me here and I'm happy to go through with it". I don't know why in the moment it scarred me. It's like my body knew what my mind didnt. When I said "I do" I knew I had made a mistake.
"I don't get it, did you not truly love her. You seem pretty broken up about it and where even is she?" he questioned me.
I explained. We had gotten in a fight the day before the wedding, we were so harsh that she said maybe we should call the wedding off. I said that was silly and that we should talk the next day. The question I answered wasn't whether I would always "to have and to hold" or whatever they say. She asked if I wanted us to break up. I answered.
| |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be.
What did they do?
What did they lie about?
In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people.
I knew lying was wrong, most of the time.
But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you.
You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time.
You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened: You lied.
It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder; Can I trust you?
Trust?
What was trust in this world?
The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne.
You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true.
But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer?
It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold.
You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be.
It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar.
We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away.
We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed.
We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear.
But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back.
The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder.
When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know.
Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off.
Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze.
"What do you want?" he asked.
And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar.
"Nothing". | "I do". I told her this and fell silent. The wedding felt so small to me. My eyes wide, I felt it start to form. I had never lied before this. It was far more painful than I would have thought. Deep down my back I felt it start. It slowly raised higher and higher stopping right before my neck. I held back the pain. I didn't want her to see it. I couldn't. We had been together eight years now and it was my descision that we do this. I answered the question as honestly as I could. I didn't know I even had it in me to lie. I'd spent all night looking in the mirror repeating to myself to make sure, "I want this to happen, I need this to happen, my life has brought me here and I'm happy to go through with it". I don't know why in the moment it scarred me. It's like my body knew what my mind didnt. When I said "I do" I knew I had made a mistake.
"I don't get it, did you not truly love her. You seem pretty broken up about it and where even is she?" he questioned me.
I explained. We had gotten in a fight the day before the wedding, we were so harsh that she said maybe we should call the wedding off. I said that was silly and that we should talk the next day. The question I answered wasn't whether I would always "to have and to hold" or whatever they say. She asked if I wanted us to break up. I answered.
| |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | It was the middle of the January, one of the better times to lie if you had to. In the cold winter months, you could get away with hiding your secrets under an oversized, baggy sweater. There just enough snow in the air that to make the sky seem to sparkle, but it was nothing compared to the sparkle in her piercing green eyes when they first made contact with mine. I swear, it was love at first sight.
Her hair was close cut, its raven black color a stark contrast to the white world which framed it. Her cheeks and nose had a splash of red from the cold. Fuzzy earmuffs, slightly oversized on her head, enveloped her ears. The cold steam of her breath escaped in short bursts from thin, pursed lips. She turned toward me a bit, wrapping her puffy red coat snugly around her body and drawing her arms over her chest for warmth. Skinny black jeans, the kind that showed off just enough of her curves, ran down into pristine white boots, the soles of which were almost obscured by the thin layer of snow on the ground.
In short, she was perfect.
Before I realized what I was doing, I hid my hands in my coat pockets self-consciously. I cursed myself for not having the foresight to wear gloves. Most of mine show up on my hands, and seeing all of them up front tends to give people the wrong first impression. See, the Scars have something of a twisted sense of humor. You tell a lie about some action you've taken, you get a scar on your arms or hands; tell a lie about somewhere you've been, you get a scar on your legs or feet; tell a lie about what you think, you get a scar somewhere on your head. Medical experts have been studying the scars for as far back as anyone can remember, but the best science can tell us is that they just... happen. For all science knows, the world could be home to legions of overly vigilant, painfully ironic fairies wielding pocket knives.
Gathering my courage, I unzipped my coat and started walking in her direction. I nearly stopped myself and turned away a couple of times, but I'd promised myself long ago to always be truthful to my feelings. Nonetheless, I stalled awkwardly when I came close. Her green eyes watching me, the smell of her perfume drifting over to me, the cold wind blowing against my shirt...
I took a deep breath. I probably looked like an idiot. But, now was not the time to panic. I laid my heart out on the line, in more ways than one. I told her she was one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen, and that if she would allow me the opportunity, I wanted to take her somewhere special. That might seem a bit direct, but it helps your case a lot when a girl can simply watch your chest to see if your feelings are genuine. Sure enough, no bloodstain appeared. She looked down at the snowy ground, her cheeks growing even more red in the cold weather.
"Alright," she said, her lips teasing into a slight smile. "What did you have in mind?"
Good question. What did I have in mind?
We ended up in a nearby restaurant, though I can't for the life of me remember how. I got really lucky is probably the best answer. As we took our seats in the booth, she took off her outer jacket, revealing a white sweater underneath. I didn't think anything of it at first.
Slowly, as if unsure of herself, she unzipped the sweater too and pulled it down her arms, not fully off but not quite on either. Beneath it, she was wearing a rather tight shirt which revealed her slender arms and the fair skin of her midriff. I was caught completely off-guard by her drastic change of apparel. She shivered a bit and rubber her shoulders.
I sat there speechless, transfixed by her beauty. Her skin was so... perfect. Not a single scar marred her arms, her stomach, her neck, or anything. I realized I must have been staring, and turned a way just a bit too quickly.
"It's okay," she said softly, pulling her coat back on. "I wanted you to see that, since... I mean, you were so up front with me and... but not in a bad way, and... I guess I could've just told you outright..." She stared at the table a bit too pointedly.
I smiled to myself. At least I wasn't the only one who was bad at this.
...
That was three years ago, back when life was so much simpler. Back before the diagnosis, before the painful treatments which dragged on into weeks and then months. Before we learned about the cancer that was eating away, slowly but surely, at her brain.
The doctors told us nothing could be done. They could treat her, give her drugs to ease the suffering and ultimately the transition, but she was never going to get better. They said she would be... gone... within a few months. I stared at them like a hawk as they spoke, scrutinizing every inch of skin as I processed each sentence, but no Scars came. It was the truth.
We were both left to ask why it had to be her.
She grew irritable and lashed out, though I could hardly blame her. They said it was pressing on her brain, altering her mood and her thoughts. I'm not ashamed to admit that I bawled my eyes out when I first heard the news. But I had to be strong, I had to keep going. I had to be a rock, no matter how hard that would be.
As her time in the hospital grew, so did the doses they gave her. On one of her worse nights, I sat there with her as she tried to process all the built up frustration. I could see in her eyes that she didn't fully recognize me, a look I would never grow used to.
With no other outlet, she turned it on me.
"Why did this have to happen?" she suddenly screamed at me, choking back a sob. Tears streamed down her cheeks. "I... I hate you!"
For a moment, neither of us said anything. We sat in near silence, interrupted only by the occasional sob. I watched her somberly, not daring to react. And that's when I saw it.
A large pool of blood soaked into her hospital gown, just above her heart. The only Scar she would ever have.
...
Thanks for reading!
-ShutainzuGeito | "I do". I told her this and fell silent. The wedding felt so small to me. My eyes wide, I felt it start to form. I had never lied before this. It was far more painful than I would have thought. Deep down my back I felt it start. It slowly raised higher and higher stopping right before my neck. I held back the pain. I didn't want her to see it. I couldn't. We had been together eight years now and it was my descision that we do this. I answered the question as honestly as I could. I didn't know I even had it in me to lie. I'd spent all night looking in the mirror repeating to myself to make sure, "I want this to happen, I need this to happen, my life has brought me here and I'm happy to go through with it". I don't know why in the moment it scarred me. It's like my body knew what my mind didnt. When I said "I do" I knew I had made a mistake.
"I don't get it, did you not truly love her. You seem pretty broken up about it and where even is she?" he questioned me.
I explained. We had gotten in a fight the day before the wedding, we were so harsh that she said maybe we should call the wedding off. I said that was silly and that we should talk the next day. The question I answered wasn't whether I would always "to have and to hold" or whatever they say. She asked if I wanted us to break up. I answered.
| |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | "Anything else?" the waitress asked me, as she smacked a cup of coffee on the table somewhat carelessly. I think her name was Darla. I shook my head a bit and watched her saunter back to the counter out of the corner of my eye. I knew she had judged me from the moment she saw me. She had given me the same look most everyone else does. It's funny how someone marked and nicked with little white scars on her hands and arms and neck and legs can look down on me for having more of them. To be fair to - whatever her name was... - Darla- ...to be fair to Darla, and to everyone else, I do have lots and lots of little scars. I looked out to the window to my right at a lamp post that illuminated the darkened streets. This was as asleep as the city gets at night.
I started my scar collection as a kid. My mother meant well and might've been a decent parent if she didn't spend her days swigging vodka. My dad was never in the picture. A military man, apparently, who had to move to a base in Europe before I was born, although looking back I'm sure that wasn't true. My mother, now she had a lot of scars. A scar for every time she was going to quit drinking and "do right by me."
The first scar I remember scratching its way onto my skin was when I was probably four or five. My teacher had asked me if I was going to be ok. My mother hadn't come to pick me up which was a semi-frequent event, and I had gotten up to walk home - I lived a 20-minute walk or so away from the school so it wasn't a problem for me. He asked me if I was going to have dinner at home, and I lied. I told him we were having company over and my mom probably just lost track of time cooking this big meal for us all. I don't even know why I lied about it because it was a pointless lie, but I felt the sting on the back of my shoulder as the words left my lips.
Over the years the lies I told people, the lies I told my mother created a tapestry of scar tissue across my body. Sometimes I just wanted to get away from the house and I'd tell her I was staying with a friend. The marks were inconsequential to me.
I'm a journalist now - a failed one - there's no use lying to you. It's funny really because none of my scars ever came from anything I've ever written. I'm stupid; I use my lies on bullshit, instead of making money.
I looked down at my coffee and heard Darla telling a couple large patrons at the counter that she was planning on going back to school soon. I wondered if she got a scar for that or if she really meant it. It didn't really matter to me. I'm not interested in the lies people tell others. That's easy. It's recorded in the history of your body like the rings of a tree and even though they fade over time, more will always take their place - we can't help ourselves. No, what interests me are the lies people tell themselves. When people put makeup over their scars to cover up as many as they can, do they look into the mirror and pretend they are honest?
A bell rang as the door opened. I glanced to my left and saw a young man walk in. And I froze.
"Go ahead and sit where you'd like," Darla yelled out cheerily. "I'll be with you in just a sec."
The newcomer walked towards a back booth, and my eyes stayed fixed on him the entire time. His skin was unmarred by any scar or blemish. I had looked over his face and neck and forearms, and not a mark there was on them. Bullshit. Everyone lies. That is the only consistent truth I have ever known, and I've known that as far back as my memory extends. Everyone is a liar - that is a universal truth. It's the universal truth. I found myself rising out of my seat. My feet carried me towards the man in the back, quickening with each step. My heart pounded.
"Let me see your arms," I managed to squeeze out as I gripped his arm and turned it. My voice was nervous. I quickly jumped to the other arms and hurriedly looked it over. I rubbed his arm spastically to remove any makeup - but there was nothing. I looked up at his face. His eyes were those of a deer's caught in a headlight. What I was doing was crazy, I knew that. I had grabbed a random stranger but he couldn't be this honest. It wasn't possible.
"Where are your scars?" I demanded. He was still taken aback. "Where are they?" I repeated a little more forcefully.
"I- what scars?" he stammered out.
I felt a surge of anger rise up in me.
"Where are your fucking scars!" I yelled at the man and grabbed his shirt at his shoulders. His shocked silence only made me angrier. In an instant, I whipped his shirt up and dumbfoundedly stepped back. The entire front of his torso was one giant mass of scarred flesh.
"How are they all there?" I breathed out. "That can't be from one lie..."
He looked hurt.
"There was an accident," he said dejectedly.
"Bullshit!" I shot back. That was a lie everyone with an exceptional scar tried to get away with. That it wasn't from a lie, but some physical injury instead. I'd heard that one before. Sometimes a new mark was worth keeping the truth in the dark. But there was no new mark. I scanned over his body.
"How did that happen?"
"It was an accident!" he retorted, anger now growing in his voice. "There was a fire in my building! People died...and I was lucky enough to only be left with this at the end of the night."
I looked over his body and watched as no new scars carved their way in. He threw his shirt back down and was clearly angry now. I stepped backward. The diner was silent. I could feel everyone's eyes on me. The man I accosted threw some money on the table and slid out of his booth. He moved passed me and I watched as the only honest man I had ever known walked out of the door. I was brought crashing back down to reality. I glanced towards the counter and saw the two patrons and the waitress staring at me. I walked back to my table and left some money there before walking out the door. I made it a few steps down the sidewalk before my legs went weak. I sat down on the curb and cried.
It was only six months later when I saw the man's face again. This time on the news. His name was Robert Lewis, and he had been arrested for arson. He had set a fire in his apartment building that apparently grew out of control and wound up killing six people and sending dozens more to the hospital. He had been found there lying in the smoke by first responders. But here's the kicker. He hadn't suffered any burns when they found him. That scar only appeared after he had been questioned about the fire by a couple other firefighters before the cops even spoke to him. It took them a couple weeks to realize what happened and then months to find the guy.
Everyone is a liar. He was just better at telling half truths.
Edit: Grammatical | "I do". I told her this and fell silent. The wedding felt so small to me. My eyes wide, I felt it start to form. I had never lied before this. It was far more painful than I would have thought. Deep down my back I felt it start. It slowly raised higher and higher stopping right before my neck. I held back the pain. I didn't want her to see it. I couldn't. We had been together eight years now and it was my descision that we do this. I answered the question as honestly as I could. I didn't know I even had it in me to lie. I'd spent all night looking in the mirror repeating to myself to make sure, "I want this to happen, I need this to happen, my life has brought me here and I'm happy to go through with it". I don't know why in the moment it scarred me. It's like my body knew what my mind didnt. When I said "I do" I knew I had made a mistake.
"I don't get it, did you not truly love her. You seem pretty broken up about it and where even is she?" he questioned me.
I explained. We had gotten in a fight the day before the wedding, we were so harsh that she said maybe we should call the wedding off. I said that was silly and that we should talk the next day. The question I answered wasn't whether I would always "to have and to hold" or whatever they say. She asked if I wanted us to break up. I answered.
| |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | It's a mad world
Nowadays you are asked to take your clothes off in a job interview for god's sake, even in court in some countries, I mean come on sometimes you actually need to lie goddamnit sometimes it actually does some real good but it literally scars you for life...
I have my fair number of scars, mostly very light ones , I can take my shirt off when I go to the beach without most of them showing , heck I can have sex with a girl and they won't notice most, the more necessary you felt that the lie was the better hidden the scar is, so most of mine are in addition to very light on ... convenient spots. I have scars on the back of my thighs, I have two behind my ears, I have some on my armpits . I once heard of a guy who had one on his penis , it turns out how you feel about the lie makes a huge difference in what scar it will leave you and where, just imagine that guy getting undressed in front of a woman , or man whatever he is into anyway. Well at least some girls say scars are sexy, or so I’ve heard.
You do get used to it but still... I once had a pretty long conversation with a war veteran about scars , now that was scarring. He took he shirt off to show me his body he was FULL. I first noticed two bullets scars , didn't think I could recognize them but damn do they look different. The bullet scars though , they were nice compared to the rest , they were in battle defending his country but the rest of his body was more scar tissue than actual skin, there were spots where I couldn't even make out how many scars he had. They formed one big pile of butchered up skin. During our conversation I found out that he actually got all the visible scars he had on his upper body in a single week , he was taken as a prisoner of war and trust me , the only countries that actually give even a single flying fuck about the Geneva convention are the ones that have already won the war. Long story short , pretty much all the scars were from the lies he told trying to lead the enemies away while they were torturing him instead of giving them real information , it's mad how they can torture you into treachery without leaving a scar on your body. It is true though , EVERYONE breaks given enough time.
The war veteran story is my go-to example on why we shouldn't judge people by their scars. There is a whole other story that I just can't get myself to tell. Too goddamn sad , well probably not so when you just hear it as a story but you were not there talking with him you did not see the sorrow and the chaos on his face.
His name was George. In my country he have to serve in the military , mandatory service . The military of course is purely defensive and the service is easier than professional militaries naturally. George was pretty much the nicest guy we all knew , he would never even lie. There had been a few occasions where others were mad at him because he would tell our officers about anything they asked and being the military there were consequences , he really , actually never lied. We also noticed after a couple of months that even though most would get out of bath completely naked since we were only men, he would get in and out always wearing a t-shirt, and whenever he had to change his t-shirt without taking a bath he hid, went to the bathroom or was alone someway. We all wondered but we thought that he just lied without us noticing and wanted to hide his scars , all the others still believe that but I know.
George and I became friends over time. We would go out for a drink , we would even go to the gym or for a run together sometimes. The park where we run was closer to his home so one day when it started raining he told me to come take a shower at his place, he'd lend me some clothes and drive me home. He let me get in to take a shower first. I got in finished my shower and got out, he went in right after me. Seconds after he got in I realized a left my shoes in the bathroom and I sweat a lot so my shoes get smelly so I wanted to get them to the balcony. Being used to it from my service, who we had both finished some months prior to that day, where we didn't really care if someone saw us naked I just opened the door and went in without knocking. God I wish I hadn't.
I saw George's back as he was getting in the shower, he just froze as he saw the awe in my face when I stared at his single scar, one single scar in the entirety of his body , it was a huge scar spanning diagonally on his whole back , it was so large it reminded me of video game characters , and so deep I thought it was see-through where the skin met the spine. I just looked at him and he knew, he got a look that was stuck in his face for the rest of the week and just said "Let me finish my shower and I'll explain".
And so he finished , and so he explained , and so I was moved , then I processed what he said and I was devastated , and then I thought about it once more and I started to cry , then he let go and started to cry even more than I did.
It was one of the saddest stories I had ever heard. Until you are 13-16 depending on the person you get no scars from lying, I mean come on who doesn’t lie as a kid. One day you wake up with an already fainted scar across your whole face which goes away in a day or two and that is how you know you now get scars from lying. So George was relatively lucky as he got his initiation scar a couple of weeks after he became sixteen.
When George was 14 his mother got cancer. His 3 years younger sister got cancer too a year later, while his father had died in an accident when George was 9. His mother was given a 60% chance of getting rid of the cancer for good at the beginning with chemotherapy. She didn’t. A month after she learned that her cancer got too spread to be completely stopped, her daughter got cancer too. George said the doctor believed that his mother must have been exposed to radiation when pregnant with his sister else it was just a very tragic coincidence that they both got cancer in such a small time interval with his sister at such a young age.
George’s mother stopped chemotherapy just before he became 15 since the doctor said it wouldn’t help anymore. His sister was never given much chance, a mere 10% that chemotherapy would even do anything.
His mother couldn’t get out of bed just before George turned 16. At the same time the doctor told his sister that chemotherapy couldn’t do anything anymore and that she was giving her about another year and 6 to 8 months in a “good enough” health.
Naturally George and his sister wanted their mother to die knowing her daughter at least would survive. So they thought they’d lie to her, tell her that her daughter was getting better. George learned how to do makeup and helped his sister so she would seem in good health no matter what happened. They told their mum that even though she had gotten past cancer she started paying attention to the details of life and that she wanted to start putting on make up to look better and her being 13 at the time her mother believed her.
And so George kept lying, with a lie that started a few weeks after he got his first scar, he kept saying the same lie to his mother everyday. His mother got worse and so did his sister. His mother died 6 months after George got 16 years old, his sister one month after that, the doctor predicted wrong. The last two months that their mother was alive his sister couldn’t get out of bed and so every day he lied to his mother that his sister had to study , or that she didn’t get a very good grade on a test and didn’t want to disappoint her , or that she went out with friends whenever his mother asked why his sister didn't visit much. On the days his sister was feeling better she put on make-up, gathered all her strength and walked enough to go sit beside her mother’s bed. And so George kept lying so that his mother would die happy, every day for hours each day he lied to his dying mother that his dying sister was well, a few weeks before the end he told her that his sister had gotten fully rid of her tumor while his sister would faint trying to get up and see her mother. And George kept lying even the last few days when his mother could hardly see or talk and asked to see her daughter, so George said that she went abroad in a school program for students good in literature related subjects and she called him to relay her love for her mother to her, while she was in the hospital 20 meters away on the same floor, hanging on to life by a thread. Then his mother died and he couldn’t lie anymore, his sister died and he could hardly feel like he could live anymore.
All that left him with one big scar, the same lie being told over and over and over again devastating him even more each time, killing him inside and out a bit more each time creating a scar that would never heal. Creating a scar that was bigger than anyone I and maybe anyone else living on this godforsaken planet has ever seen. Creating a scar that made every other evil, obstacle or problem seem redundant, turning George into the best person I had ever known, into the best person anyone that met him had ever known.
It’s a mad world , and it’s mad to judge people by their scars , some carry them with sorrow , some with pride , some with regret some with happiness , some only need one , some have none , some can’t seem to get enough.
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This is my first ever prompt , pretty much the first story i've ever written to be honest ( outside of school of course). Feedback is appreciated
Also sorry if it got too sad too fast in the end I was listening to Tears in Heaven by Eric Clapton when I started writing , a very sad song who I only found out about yesterday, worth a listen.
Edit: So I'm done with changes to the story , may edit in the future if I find any spelling or grammar mistakes | "I do". I told her this and fell silent. The wedding felt so small to me. My eyes wide, I felt it start to form. I had never lied before this. It was far more painful than I would have thought. Deep down my back I felt it start. It slowly raised higher and higher stopping right before my neck. I held back the pain. I didn't want her to see it. I couldn't. We had been together eight years now and it was my descision that we do this. I answered the question as honestly as I could. I didn't know I even had it in me to lie. I'd spent all night looking in the mirror repeating to myself to make sure, "I want this to happen, I need this to happen, my life has brought me here and I'm happy to go through with it". I don't know why in the moment it scarred me. It's like my body knew what my mind didnt. When I said "I do" I knew I had made a mistake.
"I don't get it, did you not truly love her. You seem pretty broken up about it and where even is she?" he questioned me.
I explained. We had gotten in a fight the day before the wedding, we were so harsh that she said maybe we should call the wedding off. I said that was silly and that we should talk the next day. The question I answered wasn't whether I would always "to have and to hold" or whatever they say. She asked if I wanted us to break up. I answered.
| |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | You want to know how I got these scars?
Well, for one thing they aren’t ‘scars’, if you look closely you’ll see it’s one continuous scar that travels around my face, neck, down my body, all around wrapping itself around my arms, legs, fingers and toes.
The only part of my body that isn’t scarred tissue is the inside of my body and even a bit of my mouth is still scarred.
So the correct question you want to ask is how did I get this scar?
Singular.
Well, you know that old saying? About how a girl likes a guy with scars? It shows they’re a bad boy, that they kick a lot of ass or in my case lie.
I didn’t kick anyone’s ass or get into a big crash, I lied.
That’s pretty much what happened.
I suppose you’ll want specifics.
Well, years ago back when I was unblemished, face filled with pimples and a voice that didn’t quite want to go low I had a crush on a girl.
A pretty girl, one that seemed to really like me with not a scar on her body as far as I could tell! So when she told me she loved me I believed her totally and without reservation.
We went out, kissed and eventually I did find she had scars. I won’t share the details of how I found out but I’m sure your imagination can fill in the blanks. Anyways, her scars, they were here and there. Small ones mostly with two or three medium sized ones. I asked her about them and she told me she didn’t want to talk about them. She seemed ashamed.
I wanted to tell her that she was human, that everyone had scars.
Then she looked at me and asked if I had any?
Well, I didn’t but I didn’t want her to feel bad so I said yes.
Next thing I knew I felt something scratch my arm and there it was. A scar.
Now that should’ve been the end of that but here’s the weird thing. It then sorta vanished. Then came back twice as bad as it realized I was sorta telling the truth but lying at the same time.
It couldn’t decide what to do.
So it just kept going.
So here I was with my girlfriend in front of me with my eyes wide in horror as the scar kept scratching me, fading and growing again. By the time it all stopped I was still screaming. Honestly I had no idea when I started.
And now we’re married.
| "I do". I told her this and fell silent. The wedding felt so small to me. My eyes wide, I felt it start to form. I had never lied before this. It was far more painful than I would have thought. Deep down my back I felt it start. It slowly raised higher and higher stopping right before my neck. I held back the pain. I didn't want her to see it. I couldn't. We had been together eight years now and it was my descision that we do this. I answered the question as honestly as I could. I didn't know I even had it in me to lie. I'd spent all night looking in the mirror repeating to myself to make sure, "I want this to happen, I need this to happen, my life has brought me here and I'm happy to go through with it". I don't know why in the moment it scarred me. It's like my body knew what my mind didnt. When I said "I do" I knew I had made a mistake.
"I don't get it, did you not truly love her. You seem pretty broken up about it and where even is she?" he questioned me.
I explained. We had gotten in a fight the day before the wedding, we were so harsh that she said maybe we should call the wedding off. I said that was silly and that we should talk the next day. The question I answered wasn't whether I would always "to have and to hold" or whatever they say. She asked if I wanted us to break up. I answered.
| |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | I met Mark in a coffee shop. I couldn't say it was love at first sight, but he was a real head turner, everywhere he went one or two people did a double take. I've never been one for conventional beauty, but my God, his skin. He was in his late 30s, but he had the perfect skin of a newborn child. He didn't have the scratches everyone else our age did. I had never seen a man like him, maybe a few models on billboards, but we all know they take a decently honest man and photoshop him into a saint.
I was intimidated, but just a second after I spoke to him, he interrupted me. He told me he thought I was beautiful, and I knew a man like this couldn't throw that out to every woman he meets. From then on it was like a dream, he was just perfect.
Yet, everywhere we went, I could feel the looming questions. All of them as they turned their heads away, trying to pretend they weren't staring, all thinking "Why her?", "How can someone like him trust someone like her?", or "Relationships like theirs never work". I know because I had thought the same things about similar couples, and never had the difference been so stark.
At first, I laid my makeup on thicker and thicker, every time we went out I felt like I wore a mask. He noticed this, and reassured me it didn't matter what everyone else thought, Mark told me "Mary, this is about us, not them. I trust you. I know your an even better person than I am, a few lies don't make you any less of a person". In time I relaxed my makeup, I even wore less than most people.
I had always been rather conservative, but with him, I was hesitant to get physical for an entirely different reason. I know he said he didn't care about my scars, and I know he believed that, but I feared what he would think when he saw me laid bare, saw the scars that blanketed me. Mostly the little scratches that everyone has, but I had a few nasty ones. I had a 5 inch one across my stomach, that I desperately didn't want him to see, he'd ask me to explain it!
I got it in highschool, a friend I'd had since childhood had mugged a woman, things went wrong and he stabbed her. He ran back to our apartment building and told me the whole thing, how he left her there in the alley, in her own blood. I had known him since we were both four, I couldn't let him go to prison. When the police questioned me, I covered for him, I told them he had spent the whole night with me. When I heard the woman died, my scar ached, it grew longer. He left town not long after that, and I didn't keep in touch, I couldn't handle it. Before he left, I did see his scar. It was awful, it went the whole length of his forearm, not something you saw often, only on the news or on TV.
The idea of Mark seeing me nude terrified me, I told him so. I even asked him if we could do it in the dark, at least the first time. Maybe if he felt my skin before he saw it, then it wouldn't shock him so much. He was silent. He told me not to worry, he told me his skin wasnt perfect. He had a scar too. A scar.
It was supposed to make me feel better, but it only multiplied my self consciousness. Only one scar? That just wasn't possible. He reassured me, he told me no matter how many scars I had, that he wouldn't ask questions, that he would still love me.
I cried there in his arms. I knew he was telling the truth. I don't know how long it was, but with time and his comfort, I calmed down. We moved to the bed, him talking off my shirt. He wasn't fazed at all, by all the blemishes, by the lies of all my 34 years on this earth, more than most.
Then he removed his shirt.
It was terrible. I shouted at the sight of it. It ran from his right shoulder blade to the lower left side of his stomach. It was wide. It was deep. I was shaking, and I saw the hurt in his eyes.
"No, no" he said quickly. "I had a car crash" he said "three years ago".
A car crash? Yes! An injury! It had to be, he couldn't lie, he was the most honest man I had ever met, he never let a mistruth breach his lips. He had to be telling the truth now.
I embraced him. I hugged him tight. I never felt so relieved, I never felt so loved. I knew I had been completed, that I would spend the rest of my life with this man.
We kissed, long and deep. I ran my fingers through his hair and caressed his neck. There I felt it. A roughness. A single tiny scar, just behind his left ear. Had I just not noticed it before? We had only known each other four months, I had not felt every inch of his head. Maybe it was a single lie, from who knows when. Maybe it just another injury, a tiny nick from falling back and hitting his head. Maybe he didn't even know he had it.
We are getting married soon. I haven't asked him about his scar again. I wonder if maybe I should. Maybe I should measure that blemish behind his ear and see if it grows after I ask him.
| "Um, excuse me sir?"
An older gentleman walked up to my counter asking about the various colors of ties that were on display above the cash register. We chatted for a bit before I managed to convince him to try on some of new suits that had just come in.
"I've never really been a fan of tight collars, you think you can make this a bit more loose?"
In retrospect, the man had way of using a mix of tone and rhetoric to get a laugh out of me. I didn't even realize what he was doing until later that day. He managed to make the process of haggling prices rather enjoyable.
"Have you ever heard of man named Heracles? He lived a long long time ago."
Sarcastic banter here, fun fact there. I couldn't help but feel like I've know this man for more than the one hour that he had spent in my shop so far. It wasn't something I was used to. My shop carried some of the more expensive suits around, so my clientele was never much for chit chat. This man was something different.
"Hold on son, let me try that on."
I happened to look up from opening a box of shoes when I noticed the maroon ridges that spiraled out of the man's chest. I had never seen anything like it before in my entire life. The spiral scar covered his entire chest and centered around the left side of his chest. The scar tissue became darker and thicker as it traveled away from the center. He noticed my eyes.
"I know what you're thinking. It's alright. When you get to be around my age... well-"
And just like that he talked about age and the journey it encompasses for another twenty minutes while I took his measurements and began wrapping up. He spoke in the most general sense too. Not a single personal detail had been given up during that deflection. He managed to change the subject of my stare onto bigger and larger things. About life. The man paid for his new suit and I let him know when it would be ready for pick up. I had to know who he was so I asked him as he left. A simple "So what do you do for a living?" was all that I could manage.
"I'm a politician" he told me. He smiled and left. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | She said: "I'm Catholic, and for my first confession we were herded before the priest and told to tell him our sins. At seven years old, I knew I had to make something up or be punished for the sin of Satan, Pride."
That was the only time I couldn't tell the truth so, "'I'm a liar,'" I lied. | "Um, excuse me sir?"
An older gentleman walked up to my counter asking about the various colors of ties that were on display above the cash register. We chatted for a bit before I managed to convince him to try on some of new suits that had just come in.
"I've never really been a fan of tight collars, you think you can make this a bit more loose?"
In retrospect, the man had way of using a mix of tone and rhetoric to get a laugh out of me. I didn't even realize what he was doing until later that day. He managed to make the process of haggling prices rather enjoyable.
"Have you ever heard of man named Heracles? He lived a long long time ago."
Sarcastic banter here, fun fact there. I couldn't help but feel like I've know this man for more than the one hour that he had spent in my shop so far. It wasn't something I was used to. My shop carried some of the more expensive suits around, so my clientele was never much for chit chat. This man was something different.
"Hold on son, let me try that on."
I happened to look up from opening a box of shoes when I noticed the maroon ridges that spiraled out of the man's chest. I had never seen anything like it before in my entire life. The spiral scar covered his entire chest and centered around the left side of his chest. The scar tissue became darker and thicker as it traveled away from the center. He noticed my eyes.
"I know what you're thinking. It's alright. When you get to be around my age... well-"
And just like that he talked about age and the journey it encompasses for another twenty minutes while I took his measurements and began wrapping up. He spoke in the most general sense too. Not a single personal detail had been given up during that deflection. He managed to change the subject of my stare onto bigger and larger things. About life. The man paid for his new suit and I let him know when it would be ready for pick up. I had to know who he was so I asked him as he left. A simple "So what do you do for a living?" was all that I could manage.
"I'm a politician" he told me. He smiled and left. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | "Mr. Graves, are you certain your client has been telling the truth?" The voice of the judge cut through the room. I glanced up from my papers, and stood up, taking off my gloves and scarf.
The jury panel gasped a little bit when they saw my unscarred face and hands. More than a few looked jealous, but most merely looked impressed. I nodded. Good. I had affixed myself as a person who told the truth in their mind.
My client, meanwhile, was a mass of scars. They marred his face, hands, neck, biceps. A few of them were deep and ugly. He was staring at his handcuffed hands, looking despondent.
I cleared my throat. "Yes, your honor. And I intend to prove not only to you, but to the men and women of the jury that the evidence the state has not does not prove my client's innocence, but that the evidence proves his innocence!"
The jury mumbled amongst themselves as I launched into my opening statement.
---
"Thank you, Mr. Graves," my client said, grinning in my office, wearing his ratty yet comfortable clothes once again. "I thought I'd be locked up for good, but you... you pulled off a miracle. "
I smiled a little, straightening my posture and linking my fingers on the desk. "It wasn't me, Mr. Williams. It was your testimony that made the most compelling argument."
Williams smiled, the scars on his face stretching and distorting.
"Mr. Graves, you're a godsend. I can never thank you enough. I'm going to go and try and pull my life together."
There. A small little slice, right by his ear. It wasn't much, and he didn't notice it, and I didn't stare. No one deserved to be caught, especially in the lies they tell themselves.
Mr. Williams thanked me profusely, continued to make that same promise that tore open that scar a little more each time, then left.
When he was gone, I once again stood in the mirror in my office. I unbuttoned my shirt, allowing myself a wince as I opened the shirt a bit further. Yep, it was still there. The one scar that I had from telling myself the lie. The biggest lie I had ever told, and it was the only reason I was still around.
I took a deep breath, looked myself dead in the mirror, and mouthed the lie to myself.
The pain lanced through me as the scar re-opened once again, starting at my collarbone, opening up through my stomach, curling around my belly button, and immediately soaking my pant leg with blood as it ended somewhere in my inner thigh.
The pain had been enough to knock me out the first time I had told that lie. My parents had rushed me to the hospital. Now, all I did was grunt, set my teeth, and reach for the suture kit on the counter in front of me.
That lie hurt, even more each time I said it. But I had to let myself know I was okay. Even if it was a lie. | "Um, excuse me sir?"
An older gentleman walked up to my counter asking about the various colors of ties that were on display above the cash register. We chatted for a bit before I managed to convince him to try on some of new suits that had just come in.
"I've never really been a fan of tight collars, you think you can make this a bit more loose?"
In retrospect, the man had way of using a mix of tone and rhetoric to get a laugh out of me. I didn't even realize what he was doing until later that day. He managed to make the process of haggling prices rather enjoyable.
"Have you ever heard of man named Heracles? He lived a long long time ago."
Sarcastic banter here, fun fact there. I couldn't help but feel like I've know this man for more than the one hour that he had spent in my shop so far. It wasn't something I was used to. My shop carried some of the more expensive suits around, so my clientele was never much for chit chat. This man was something different.
"Hold on son, let me try that on."
I happened to look up from opening a box of shoes when I noticed the maroon ridges that spiraled out of the man's chest. I had never seen anything like it before in my entire life. The spiral scar covered his entire chest and centered around the left side of his chest. The scar tissue became darker and thicker as it traveled away from the center. He noticed my eyes.
"I know what you're thinking. It's alright. When you get to be around my age... well-"
And just like that he talked about age and the journey it encompasses for another twenty minutes while I took his measurements and began wrapping up. He spoke in the most general sense too. Not a single personal detail had been given up during that deflection. He managed to change the subject of my stare onto bigger and larger things. About life. The man paid for his new suit and I let him know when it would be ready for pick up. I had to know who he was so I asked him as he left. A simple "So what do you do for a living?" was all that I could manage.
"I'm a politician" he told me. He smiled and left. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | We lived side by side spending our days joined at the hips so much so people thought we were brothers. My skin was covered in them by the time I was 12 while he hadn’t got a single mark yet, I was slightly envious of his clear skin that impressed people for a boy his age. When I asked him how he did it, he simply shrugged and said anything was possible with a slight grin. His vague reply made me more jealous, sure I lied more than most kids my age but most of the lies were petty and insignificant that I didn’t think twice about. Plus, the marks I got didn’t hurt one bit so it just sorta added up after a while.
Then childhood ended and I moved away right before I started high-school. We didn’t really keep in contact with each other like how most kids promise but never do. It wasn’t any different with us, by the time my 20s came around he was just a hazy childhood friend I had all but forgotten about.
It was blistering hot that day, too hot to wear anything but short sleeves and pants. I hated wearing those types of clothes, while most people’s scars were skinny and faded into their skin. Mine had become more gashed and discolored as I grew older, I was one of the unlucky ones whose skin healed badly to these marks. Just genetics they told me.
I was walking back from the bus stop when I saw him in front of me, his clear pale skin devoid of any scars got my attention first before I saw his face. When I looked up at his face that’s when I recognized him, I called out his name and waved slightly at him. His face looked blank for a moment before lighting up in recognition as well. His pasty lips smiled at me and called me over, while we caught up all I could notice was how unblemished his arms and legs looked. Scars usually showed up first on your limbs before covering your whole body.
He must have noticed my gawking and laughed a bit before telling me to not trust your first impressions. I was confused by what he meant, but when I asked he just smiled a bit wider.
“Ben, I was actually kind of happy you were jealous of me when we were younger. In a way, I was just lucky they showed up in places where no one noticed.” He said to me, before turning his back and walking away before I could reply.
I noticed a painful red looking scar peeking out from the back of his neck and drops of red starting to stain his white shirt.
| "Um, excuse me sir?"
An older gentleman walked up to my counter asking about the various colors of ties that were on display above the cash register. We chatted for a bit before I managed to convince him to try on some of new suits that had just come in.
"I've never really been a fan of tight collars, you think you can make this a bit more loose?"
In retrospect, the man had way of using a mix of tone and rhetoric to get a laugh out of me. I didn't even realize what he was doing until later that day. He managed to make the process of haggling prices rather enjoyable.
"Have you ever heard of man named Heracles? He lived a long long time ago."
Sarcastic banter here, fun fact there. I couldn't help but feel like I've know this man for more than the one hour that he had spent in my shop so far. It wasn't something I was used to. My shop carried some of the more expensive suits around, so my clientele was never much for chit chat. This man was something different.
"Hold on son, let me try that on."
I happened to look up from opening a box of shoes when I noticed the maroon ridges that spiraled out of the man's chest. I had never seen anything like it before in my entire life. The spiral scar covered his entire chest and centered around the left side of his chest. The scar tissue became darker and thicker as it traveled away from the center. He noticed my eyes.
"I know what you're thinking. It's alright. When you get to be around my age... well-"
And just like that he talked about age and the journey it encompasses for another twenty minutes while I took his measurements and began wrapping up. He spoke in the most general sense too. Not a single personal detail had been given up during that deflection. He managed to change the subject of my stare onto bigger and larger things. About life. The man paid for his new suit and I let him know when it would be ready for pick up. I had to know who he was so I asked him as he left. A simple "So what do you do for a living?" was all that I could manage.
"I'm a politician" he told me. He smiled and left. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | We met at a bar one evening. She had a beer in her hand, something local on tap, about half-drained. We struck up some conversation - weather or sports or some such, I don't remember, small talk though. She made some passing comment about liking my ears, and I almost brushed it off as false praise - I think they stick out a bit too much - before I noticed her smooth skin; not a single scar visible.
I had my own fair share of lies cut into my skin - most minor, a few major. Even the bigger ones I'd usually defend, outside of a big one on my arm. "I've been clean for a year!". Even so, that's the least regretful mistake from that part of my life - I'm proud to say I can say that line now without the scar growing larger.
I got her name - Jane - and later, her number. We ended up setting up a date for the following weekend, and hit it off quickly. Similar interests - hiking, video games, cooking... Well, mostly same interests, anyway. I remember her coy smile when I said I liked her Coltrane collection, and a line of skin on my forearm darkened. Can't stand jazz, really.
I thought for about a month that she was perfectly honest, until we went to bed together. Jane seemed reluctant to take off her shirt, but that same honesty that kept her skin smooth must have demanded she not cover up now - her bra came off, and across the inside of her left breast was the deepest scar that I've ever seen. It wasn't a discoloration like most scars - it was like a knotted rope was underneath the skin.
It wasn't the sort of thing you can comment on lightly, but at the same time, it would be more conspicuous to ignore it. She was clearly distressed, waiting for my reaction. I wasn't sure what to say, but we were both naked at that point so there was no hoping that a lie would be covered up by clothing.
"There's obviously a story here, and I'm curious, but... Right now, it's not important. I'm willing to wait until you're willing to tell me on your own terms" I said, and punctuated the sentence with a kiss. She ran a hand through my short hair, and the encounter continued naturally after that. But frankly the details are none of your business.
It was another six months before I learned any more details about that scar of hers. We were quite serious by now, and I'd had plenty of opportunities to see it again at this point.
Jane told me that her parents were going to be coming by for Thanksgiving, and that she wanted me to be there. Her face was strangely tense, and when I pressed for information, she just said that she didn't feel up for explaining. What could I say to that? So, I didn't press the issue, and waited for Thursday to roll around.
Her parents showed up - her mother was a frumpy sort of woman, with a flowery dress, and her father was tall, but had a thick neck and a double chin. I was surprised the two of them could have produced such a beautiful daughter, but all the same I could see some resemblance, particularly in the eyes and nose.
The first thing I heard her father say - before even "hello" - was right after he jerked a thumb in my direction. "Is this that friend of yours? She looks like a fucking dyke." Her mother agreed emphatically. I found myself dumbstruck, unable to respond. Jane laughed uncomfortably, but her father didn't seem to notice - he was sniffing the air.
"Turkey's already on, eh? Surprised you haven't caught yourself a husband yet, with your cooking. Hah!"
"No luck yet, but I'm sure I'll find one one of these days." Jane replied with a weak smile, clearly hiding a wince as the scar above her heart wrought its way deeper into her skin. | "Um, excuse me sir?"
An older gentleman walked up to my counter asking about the various colors of ties that were on display above the cash register. We chatted for a bit before I managed to convince him to try on some of new suits that had just come in.
"I've never really been a fan of tight collars, you think you can make this a bit more loose?"
In retrospect, the man had way of using a mix of tone and rhetoric to get a laugh out of me. I didn't even realize what he was doing until later that day. He managed to make the process of haggling prices rather enjoyable.
"Have you ever heard of man named Heracles? He lived a long long time ago."
Sarcastic banter here, fun fact there. I couldn't help but feel like I've know this man for more than the one hour that he had spent in my shop so far. It wasn't something I was used to. My shop carried some of the more expensive suits around, so my clientele was never much for chit chat. This man was something different.
"Hold on son, let me try that on."
I happened to look up from opening a box of shoes when I noticed the maroon ridges that spiraled out of the man's chest. I had never seen anything like it before in my entire life. The spiral scar covered his entire chest and centered around the left side of his chest. The scar tissue became darker and thicker as it traveled away from the center. He noticed my eyes.
"I know what you're thinking. It's alright. When you get to be around my age... well-"
And just like that he talked about age and the journey it encompasses for another twenty minutes while I took his measurements and began wrapping up. He spoke in the most general sense too. Not a single personal detail had been given up during that deflection. He managed to change the subject of my stare onto bigger and larger things. About life. The man paid for his new suit and I let him know when it would be ready for pick up. I had to know who he was so I asked him as he left. A simple "So what do you do for a living?" was all that I could manage.
"I'm a politician" he told me. He smiled and left. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be.
What did they do?
What did they lie about?
In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people.
I knew lying was wrong, most of the time.
But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you.
You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time.
You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened: You lied.
It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder; Can I trust you?
Trust?
What was trust in this world?
The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne.
You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true.
But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer?
It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold.
You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be.
It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar.
We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away.
We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed.
We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear.
But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back.
The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder.
When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know.
Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off.
Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze.
"What do you want?" he asked.
And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar.
"Nothing". | "Um, excuse me sir?"
An older gentleman walked up to my counter asking about the various colors of ties that were on display above the cash register. We chatted for a bit before I managed to convince him to try on some of new suits that had just come in.
"I've never really been a fan of tight collars, you think you can make this a bit more loose?"
In retrospect, the man had way of using a mix of tone and rhetoric to get a laugh out of me. I didn't even realize what he was doing until later that day. He managed to make the process of haggling prices rather enjoyable.
"Have you ever heard of man named Heracles? He lived a long long time ago."
Sarcastic banter here, fun fact there. I couldn't help but feel like I've know this man for more than the one hour that he had spent in my shop so far. It wasn't something I was used to. My shop carried some of the more expensive suits around, so my clientele was never much for chit chat. This man was something different.
"Hold on son, let me try that on."
I happened to look up from opening a box of shoes when I noticed the maroon ridges that spiraled out of the man's chest. I had never seen anything like it before in my entire life. The spiral scar covered his entire chest and centered around the left side of his chest. The scar tissue became darker and thicker as it traveled away from the center. He noticed my eyes.
"I know what you're thinking. It's alright. When you get to be around my age... well-"
And just like that he talked about age and the journey it encompasses for another twenty minutes while I took his measurements and began wrapping up. He spoke in the most general sense too. Not a single personal detail had been given up during that deflection. He managed to change the subject of my stare onto bigger and larger things. About life. The man paid for his new suit and I let him know when it would be ready for pick up. I had to know who he was so I asked him as he left. A simple "So what do you do for a living?" was all that I could manage.
"I'm a politician" he told me. He smiled and left. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | It was the middle of the January, one of the better times to lie if you had to. In the cold winter months, you could get away with hiding your secrets under an oversized, baggy sweater. There just enough snow in the air that to make the sky seem to sparkle, but it was nothing compared to the sparkle in her piercing green eyes when they first made contact with mine. I swear, it was love at first sight.
Her hair was close cut, its raven black color a stark contrast to the white world which framed it. Her cheeks and nose had a splash of red from the cold. Fuzzy earmuffs, slightly oversized on her head, enveloped her ears. The cold steam of her breath escaped in short bursts from thin, pursed lips. She turned toward me a bit, wrapping her puffy red coat snugly around her body and drawing her arms over her chest for warmth. Skinny black jeans, the kind that showed off just enough of her curves, ran down into pristine white boots, the soles of which were almost obscured by the thin layer of snow on the ground.
In short, she was perfect.
Before I realized what I was doing, I hid my hands in my coat pockets self-consciously. I cursed myself for not having the foresight to wear gloves. Most of mine show up on my hands, and seeing all of them up front tends to give people the wrong first impression. See, the Scars have something of a twisted sense of humor. You tell a lie about some action you've taken, you get a scar on your arms or hands; tell a lie about somewhere you've been, you get a scar on your legs or feet; tell a lie about what you think, you get a scar somewhere on your head. Medical experts have been studying the scars for as far back as anyone can remember, but the best science can tell us is that they just... happen. For all science knows, the world could be home to legions of overly vigilant, painfully ironic fairies wielding pocket knives.
Gathering my courage, I unzipped my coat and started walking in her direction. I nearly stopped myself and turned away a couple of times, but I'd promised myself long ago to always be truthful to my feelings. Nonetheless, I stalled awkwardly when I came close. Her green eyes watching me, the smell of her perfume drifting over to me, the cold wind blowing against my shirt...
I took a deep breath. I probably looked like an idiot. But, now was not the time to panic. I laid my heart out on the line, in more ways than one. I told her she was one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen, and that if she would allow me the opportunity, I wanted to take her somewhere special. That might seem a bit direct, but it helps your case a lot when a girl can simply watch your chest to see if your feelings are genuine. Sure enough, no bloodstain appeared. She looked down at the snowy ground, her cheeks growing even more red in the cold weather.
"Alright," she said, her lips teasing into a slight smile. "What did you have in mind?"
Good question. What did I have in mind?
We ended up in a nearby restaurant, though I can't for the life of me remember how. I got really lucky is probably the best answer. As we took our seats in the booth, she took off her outer jacket, revealing a white sweater underneath. I didn't think anything of it at first.
Slowly, as if unsure of herself, she unzipped the sweater too and pulled it down her arms, not fully off but not quite on either. Beneath it, she was wearing a rather tight shirt which revealed her slender arms and the fair skin of her midriff. I was caught completely off-guard by her drastic change of apparel. She shivered a bit and rubber her shoulders.
I sat there speechless, transfixed by her beauty. Her skin was so... perfect. Not a single scar marred her arms, her stomach, her neck, or anything. I realized I must have been staring, and turned a way just a bit too quickly.
"It's okay," she said softly, pulling her coat back on. "I wanted you to see that, since... I mean, you were so up front with me and... but not in a bad way, and... I guess I could've just told you outright..." She stared at the table a bit too pointedly.
I smiled to myself. At least I wasn't the only one who was bad at this.
...
That was three years ago, back when life was so much simpler. Back before the diagnosis, before the painful treatments which dragged on into weeks and then months. Before we learned about the cancer that was eating away, slowly but surely, at her brain.
The doctors told us nothing could be done. They could treat her, give her drugs to ease the suffering and ultimately the transition, but she was never going to get better. They said she would be... gone... within a few months. I stared at them like a hawk as they spoke, scrutinizing every inch of skin as I processed each sentence, but no Scars came. It was the truth.
We were both left to ask why it had to be her.
She grew irritable and lashed out, though I could hardly blame her. They said it was pressing on her brain, altering her mood and her thoughts. I'm not ashamed to admit that I bawled my eyes out when I first heard the news. But I had to be strong, I had to keep going. I had to be a rock, no matter how hard that would be.
As her time in the hospital grew, so did the doses they gave her. On one of her worse nights, I sat there with her as she tried to process all the built up frustration. I could see in her eyes that she didn't fully recognize me, a look I would never grow used to.
With no other outlet, she turned it on me.
"Why did this have to happen?" she suddenly screamed at me, choking back a sob. Tears streamed down her cheeks. "I... I hate you!"
For a moment, neither of us said anything. We sat in near silence, interrupted only by the occasional sob. I watched her somberly, not daring to react. And that's when I saw it.
A large pool of blood soaked into her hospital gown, just above her heart. The only Scar she would ever have.
...
Thanks for reading!
-ShutainzuGeito | "Um, excuse me sir?"
An older gentleman walked up to my counter asking about the various colors of ties that were on display above the cash register. We chatted for a bit before I managed to convince him to try on some of new suits that had just come in.
"I've never really been a fan of tight collars, you think you can make this a bit more loose?"
In retrospect, the man had way of using a mix of tone and rhetoric to get a laugh out of me. I didn't even realize what he was doing until later that day. He managed to make the process of haggling prices rather enjoyable.
"Have you ever heard of man named Heracles? He lived a long long time ago."
Sarcastic banter here, fun fact there. I couldn't help but feel like I've know this man for more than the one hour that he had spent in my shop so far. It wasn't something I was used to. My shop carried some of the more expensive suits around, so my clientele was never much for chit chat. This man was something different.
"Hold on son, let me try that on."
I happened to look up from opening a box of shoes when I noticed the maroon ridges that spiraled out of the man's chest. I had never seen anything like it before in my entire life. The spiral scar covered his entire chest and centered around the left side of his chest. The scar tissue became darker and thicker as it traveled away from the center. He noticed my eyes.
"I know what you're thinking. It's alright. When you get to be around my age... well-"
And just like that he talked about age and the journey it encompasses for another twenty minutes while I took his measurements and began wrapping up. He spoke in the most general sense too. Not a single personal detail had been given up during that deflection. He managed to change the subject of my stare onto bigger and larger things. About life. The man paid for his new suit and I let him know when it would be ready for pick up. I had to know who he was so I asked him as he left. A simple "So what do you do for a living?" was all that I could manage.
"I'm a politician" he told me. He smiled and left. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | "Anything else?" the waitress asked me, as she smacked a cup of coffee on the table somewhat carelessly. I think her name was Darla. I shook my head a bit and watched her saunter back to the counter out of the corner of my eye. I knew she had judged me from the moment she saw me. She had given me the same look most everyone else does. It's funny how someone marked and nicked with little white scars on her hands and arms and neck and legs can look down on me for having more of them. To be fair to - whatever her name was... - Darla- ...to be fair to Darla, and to everyone else, I do have lots and lots of little scars. I looked out to the window to my right at a lamp post that illuminated the darkened streets. This was as asleep as the city gets at night.
I started my scar collection as a kid. My mother meant well and might've been a decent parent if she didn't spend her days swigging vodka. My dad was never in the picture. A military man, apparently, who had to move to a base in Europe before I was born, although looking back I'm sure that wasn't true. My mother, now she had a lot of scars. A scar for every time she was going to quit drinking and "do right by me."
The first scar I remember scratching its way onto my skin was when I was probably four or five. My teacher had asked me if I was going to be ok. My mother hadn't come to pick me up which was a semi-frequent event, and I had gotten up to walk home - I lived a 20-minute walk or so away from the school so it wasn't a problem for me. He asked me if I was going to have dinner at home, and I lied. I told him we were having company over and my mom probably just lost track of time cooking this big meal for us all. I don't even know why I lied about it because it was a pointless lie, but I felt the sting on the back of my shoulder as the words left my lips.
Over the years the lies I told people, the lies I told my mother created a tapestry of scar tissue across my body. Sometimes I just wanted to get away from the house and I'd tell her I was staying with a friend. The marks were inconsequential to me.
I'm a journalist now - a failed one - there's no use lying to you. It's funny really because none of my scars ever came from anything I've ever written. I'm stupid; I use my lies on bullshit, instead of making money.
I looked down at my coffee and heard Darla telling a couple large patrons at the counter that she was planning on going back to school soon. I wondered if she got a scar for that or if she really meant it. It didn't really matter to me. I'm not interested in the lies people tell others. That's easy. It's recorded in the history of your body like the rings of a tree and even though they fade over time, more will always take their place - we can't help ourselves. No, what interests me are the lies people tell themselves. When people put makeup over their scars to cover up as many as they can, do they look into the mirror and pretend they are honest?
A bell rang as the door opened. I glanced to my left and saw a young man walk in. And I froze.
"Go ahead and sit where you'd like," Darla yelled out cheerily. "I'll be with you in just a sec."
The newcomer walked towards a back booth, and my eyes stayed fixed on him the entire time. His skin was unmarred by any scar or blemish. I had looked over his face and neck and forearms, and not a mark there was on them. Bullshit. Everyone lies. That is the only consistent truth I have ever known, and I've known that as far back as my memory extends. Everyone is a liar - that is a universal truth. It's the universal truth. I found myself rising out of my seat. My feet carried me towards the man in the back, quickening with each step. My heart pounded.
"Let me see your arms," I managed to squeeze out as I gripped his arm and turned it. My voice was nervous. I quickly jumped to the other arms and hurriedly looked it over. I rubbed his arm spastically to remove any makeup - but there was nothing. I looked up at his face. His eyes were those of a deer's caught in a headlight. What I was doing was crazy, I knew that. I had grabbed a random stranger but he couldn't be this honest. It wasn't possible.
"Where are your scars?" I demanded. He was still taken aback. "Where are they?" I repeated a little more forcefully.
"I- what scars?" he stammered out.
I felt a surge of anger rise up in me.
"Where are your fucking scars!" I yelled at the man and grabbed his shirt at his shoulders. His shocked silence only made me angrier. In an instant, I whipped his shirt up and dumbfoundedly stepped back. The entire front of his torso was one giant mass of scarred flesh.
"How are they all there?" I breathed out. "That can't be from one lie..."
He looked hurt.
"There was an accident," he said dejectedly.
"Bullshit!" I shot back. That was a lie everyone with an exceptional scar tried to get away with. That it wasn't from a lie, but some physical injury instead. I'd heard that one before. Sometimes a new mark was worth keeping the truth in the dark. But there was no new mark. I scanned over his body.
"How did that happen?"
"It was an accident!" he retorted, anger now growing in his voice. "There was a fire in my building! People died...and I was lucky enough to only be left with this at the end of the night."
I looked over his body and watched as no new scars carved their way in. He threw his shirt back down and was clearly angry now. I stepped backward. The diner was silent. I could feel everyone's eyes on me. The man I accosted threw some money on the table and slid out of his booth. He moved passed me and I watched as the only honest man I had ever known walked out of the door. I was brought crashing back down to reality. I glanced towards the counter and saw the two patrons and the waitress staring at me. I walked back to my table and left some money there before walking out the door. I made it a few steps down the sidewalk before my legs went weak. I sat down on the curb and cried.
It was only six months later when I saw the man's face again. This time on the news. His name was Robert Lewis, and he had been arrested for arson. He had set a fire in his apartment building that apparently grew out of control and wound up killing six people and sending dozens more to the hospital. He had been found there lying in the smoke by first responders. But here's the kicker. He hadn't suffered any burns when they found him. That scar only appeared after he had been questioned about the fire by a couple other firefighters before the cops even spoke to him. It took them a couple weeks to realize what happened and then months to find the guy.
Everyone is a liar. He was just better at telling half truths.
Edit: Grammatical | "Um, excuse me sir?"
An older gentleman walked up to my counter asking about the various colors of ties that were on display above the cash register. We chatted for a bit before I managed to convince him to try on some of new suits that had just come in.
"I've never really been a fan of tight collars, you think you can make this a bit more loose?"
In retrospect, the man had way of using a mix of tone and rhetoric to get a laugh out of me. I didn't even realize what he was doing until later that day. He managed to make the process of haggling prices rather enjoyable.
"Have you ever heard of man named Heracles? He lived a long long time ago."
Sarcastic banter here, fun fact there. I couldn't help but feel like I've know this man for more than the one hour that he had spent in my shop so far. It wasn't something I was used to. My shop carried some of the more expensive suits around, so my clientele was never much for chit chat. This man was something different.
"Hold on son, let me try that on."
I happened to look up from opening a box of shoes when I noticed the maroon ridges that spiraled out of the man's chest. I had never seen anything like it before in my entire life. The spiral scar covered his entire chest and centered around the left side of his chest. The scar tissue became darker and thicker as it traveled away from the center. He noticed my eyes.
"I know what you're thinking. It's alright. When you get to be around my age... well-"
And just like that he talked about age and the journey it encompasses for another twenty minutes while I took his measurements and began wrapping up. He spoke in the most general sense too. Not a single personal detail had been given up during that deflection. He managed to change the subject of my stare onto bigger and larger things. About life. The man paid for his new suit and I let him know when it would be ready for pick up. I had to know who he was so I asked him as he left. A simple "So what do you do for a living?" was all that I could manage.
"I'm a politician" he told me. He smiled and left. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | It's a mad world
Nowadays you are asked to take your clothes off in a job interview for god's sake, even in court in some countries, I mean come on sometimes you actually need to lie goddamnit sometimes it actually does some real good but it literally scars you for life...
I have my fair number of scars, mostly very light ones , I can take my shirt off when I go to the beach without most of them showing , heck I can have sex with a girl and they won't notice most, the more necessary you felt that the lie was the better hidden the scar is, so most of mine are in addition to very light on ... convenient spots. I have scars on the back of my thighs, I have two behind my ears, I have some on my armpits . I once heard of a guy who had one on his penis , it turns out how you feel about the lie makes a huge difference in what scar it will leave you and where, just imagine that guy getting undressed in front of a woman , or man whatever he is into anyway. Well at least some girls say scars are sexy, or so I’ve heard.
You do get used to it but still... I once had a pretty long conversation with a war veteran about scars , now that was scarring. He took he shirt off to show me his body he was FULL. I first noticed two bullets scars , didn't think I could recognize them but damn do they look different. The bullet scars though , they were nice compared to the rest , they were in battle defending his country but the rest of his body was more scar tissue than actual skin, there were spots where I couldn't even make out how many scars he had. They formed one big pile of butchered up skin. During our conversation I found out that he actually got all the visible scars he had on his upper body in a single week , he was taken as a prisoner of war and trust me , the only countries that actually give even a single flying fuck about the Geneva convention are the ones that have already won the war. Long story short , pretty much all the scars were from the lies he told trying to lead the enemies away while they were torturing him instead of giving them real information , it's mad how they can torture you into treachery without leaving a scar on your body. It is true though , EVERYONE breaks given enough time.
The war veteran story is my go-to example on why we shouldn't judge people by their scars. There is a whole other story that I just can't get myself to tell. Too goddamn sad , well probably not so when you just hear it as a story but you were not there talking with him you did not see the sorrow and the chaos on his face.
His name was George. In my country he have to serve in the military , mandatory service . The military of course is purely defensive and the service is easier than professional militaries naturally. George was pretty much the nicest guy we all knew , he would never even lie. There had been a few occasions where others were mad at him because he would tell our officers about anything they asked and being the military there were consequences , he really , actually never lied. We also noticed after a couple of months that even though most would get out of bath completely naked since we were only men, he would get in and out always wearing a t-shirt, and whenever he had to change his t-shirt without taking a bath he hid, went to the bathroom or was alone someway. We all wondered but we thought that he just lied without us noticing and wanted to hide his scars , all the others still believe that but I know.
George and I became friends over time. We would go out for a drink , we would even go to the gym or for a run together sometimes. The park where we run was closer to his home so one day when it started raining he told me to come take a shower at his place, he'd lend me some clothes and drive me home. He let me get in to take a shower first. I got in finished my shower and got out, he went in right after me. Seconds after he got in I realized a left my shoes in the bathroom and I sweat a lot so my shoes get smelly so I wanted to get them to the balcony. Being used to it from my service, who we had both finished some months prior to that day, where we didn't really care if someone saw us naked I just opened the door and went in without knocking. God I wish I hadn't.
I saw George's back as he was getting in the shower, he just froze as he saw the awe in my face when I stared at his single scar, one single scar in the entirety of his body , it was a huge scar spanning diagonally on his whole back , it was so large it reminded me of video game characters , and so deep I thought it was see-through where the skin met the spine. I just looked at him and he knew, he got a look that was stuck in his face for the rest of the week and just said "Let me finish my shower and I'll explain".
And so he finished , and so he explained , and so I was moved , then I processed what he said and I was devastated , and then I thought about it once more and I started to cry , then he let go and started to cry even more than I did.
It was one of the saddest stories I had ever heard. Until you are 13-16 depending on the person you get no scars from lying, I mean come on who doesn’t lie as a kid. One day you wake up with an already fainted scar across your whole face which goes away in a day or two and that is how you know you now get scars from lying. So George was relatively lucky as he got his initiation scar a couple of weeks after he became sixteen.
When George was 14 his mother got cancer. His 3 years younger sister got cancer too a year later, while his father had died in an accident when George was 9. His mother was given a 60% chance of getting rid of the cancer for good at the beginning with chemotherapy. She didn’t. A month after she learned that her cancer got too spread to be completely stopped, her daughter got cancer too. George said the doctor believed that his mother must have been exposed to radiation when pregnant with his sister else it was just a very tragic coincidence that they both got cancer in such a small time interval with his sister at such a young age.
George’s mother stopped chemotherapy just before he became 15 since the doctor said it wouldn’t help anymore. His sister was never given much chance, a mere 10% that chemotherapy would even do anything.
His mother couldn’t get out of bed just before George turned 16. At the same time the doctor told his sister that chemotherapy couldn’t do anything anymore and that she was giving her about another year and 6 to 8 months in a “good enough” health.
Naturally George and his sister wanted their mother to die knowing her daughter at least would survive. So they thought they’d lie to her, tell her that her daughter was getting better. George learned how to do makeup and helped his sister so she would seem in good health no matter what happened. They told their mum that even though she had gotten past cancer she started paying attention to the details of life and that she wanted to start putting on make up to look better and her being 13 at the time her mother believed her.
And so George kept lying, with a lie that started a few weeks after he got his first scar, he kept saying the same lie to his mother everyday. His mother got worse and so did his sister. His mother died 6 months after George got 16 years old, his sister one month after that, the doctor predicted wrong. The last two months that their mother was alive his sister couldn’t get out of bed and so every day he lied to his mother that his sister had to study , or that she didn’t get a very good grade on a test and didn’t want to disappoint her , or that she went out with friends whenever his mother asked why his sister didn't visit much. On the days his sister was feeling better she put on make-up, gathered all her strength and walked enough to go sit beside her mother’s bed. And so George kept lying so that his mother would die happy, every day for hours each day he lied to his dying mother that his dying sister was well, a few weeks before the end he told her that his sister had gotten fully rid of her tumor while his sister would faint trying to get up and see her mother. And George kept lying even the last few days when his mother could hardly see or talk and asked to see her daughter, so George said that she went abroad in a school program for students good in literature related subjects and she called him to relay her love for her mother to her, while she was in the hospital 20 meters away on the same floor, hanging on to life by a thread. Then his mother died and he couldn’t lie anymore, his sister died and he could hardly feel like he could live anymore.
All that left him with one big scar, the same lie being told over and over and over again devastating him even more each time, killing him inside and out a bit more each time creating a scar that would never heal. Creating a scar that was bigger than anyone I and maybe anyone else living on this godforsaken planet has ever seen. Creating a scar that made every other evil, obstacle or problem seem redundant, turning George into the best person I had ever known, into the best person anyone that met him had ever known.
It’s a mad world , and it’s mad to judge people by their scars , some carry them with sorrow , some with pride , some with regret some with happiness , some only need one , some have none , some can’t seem to get enough.
.
This is my first ever prompt , pretty much the first story i've ever written to be honest ( outside of school of course). Feedback is appreciated
Also sorry if it got too sad too fast in the end I was listening to Tears in Heaven by Eric Clapton when I started writing , a very sad song who I only found out about yesterday, worth a listen.
Edit: So I'm done with changes to the story , may edit in the future if I find any spelling or grammar mistakes | "Um, excuse me sir?"
An older gentleman walked up to my counter asking about the various colors of ties that were on display above the cash register. We chatted for a bit before I managed to convince him to try on some of new suits that had just come in.
"I've never really been a fan of tight collars, you think you can make this a bit more loose?"
In retrospect, the man had way of using a mix of tone and rhetoric to get a laugh out of me. I didn't even realize what he was doing until later that day. He managed to make the process of haggling prices rather enjoyable.
"Have you ever heard of man named Heracles? He lived a long long time ago."
Sarcastic banter here, fun fact there. I couldn't help but feel like I've know this man for more than the one hour that he had spent in my shop so far. It wasn't something I was used to. My shop carried some of the more expensive suits around, so my clientele was never much for chit chat. This man was something different.
"Hold on son, let me try that on."
I happened to look up from opening a box of shoes when I noticed the maroon ridges that spiraled out of the man's chest. I had never seen anything like it before in my entire life. The spiral scar covered his entire chest and centered around the left side of his chest. The scar tissue became darker and thicker as it traveled away from the center. He noticed my eyes.
"I know what you're thinking. It's alright. When you get to be around my age... well-"
And just like that he talked about age and the journey it encompasses for another twenty minutes while I took his measurements and began wrapping up. He spoke in the most general sense too. Not a single personal detail had been given up during that deflection. He managed to change the subject of my stare onto bigger and larger things. About life. The man paid for his new suit and I let him know when it would be ready for pick up. I had to know who he was so I asked him as he left. A simple "So what do you do for a living?" was all that I could manage.
"I'm a politician" he told me. He smiled and left. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | You want to know how I got these scars?
Well, for one thing they aren’t ‘scars’, if you look closely you’ll see it’s one continuous scar that travels around my face, neck, down my body, all around wrapping itself around my arms, legs, fingers and toes.
The only part of my body that isn’t scarred tissue is the inside of my body and even a bit of my mouth is still scarred.
So the correct question you want to ask is how did I get this scar?
Singular.
Well, you know that old saying? About how a girl likes a guy with scars? It shows they’re a bad boy, that they kick a lot of ass or in my case lie.
I didn’t kick anyone’s ass or get into a big crash, I lied.
That’s pretty much what happened.
I suppose you’ll want specifics.
Well, years ago back when I was unblemished, face filled with pimples and a voice that didn’t quite want to go low I had a crush on a girl.
A pretty girl, one that seemed to really like me with not a scar on her body as far as I could tell! So when she told me she loved me I believed her totally and without reservation.
We went out, kissed and eventually I did find she had scars. I won’t share the details of how I found out but I’m sure your imagination can fill in the blanks. Anyways, her scars, they were here and there. Small ones mostly with two or three medium sized ones. I asked her about them and she told me she didn’t want to talk about them. She seemed ashamed.
I wanted to tell her that she was human, that everyone had scars.
Then she looked at me and asked if I had any?
Well, I didn’t but I didn’t want her to feel bad so I said yes.
Next thing I knew I felt something scratch my arm and there it was. A scar.
Now that should’ve been the end of that but here’s the weird thing. It then sorta vanished. Then came back twice as bad as it realized I was sorta telling the truth but lying at the same time.
It couldn’t decide what to do.
So it just kept going.
So here I was with my girlfriend in front of me with my eyes wide in horror as the scar kept scratching me, fading and growing again. By the time it all stopped I was still screaming. Honestly I had no idea when I started.
And now we’re married.
| "Um, excuse me sir?"
An older gentleman walked up to my counter asking about the various colors of ties that were on display above the cash register. We chatted for a bit before I managed to convince him to try on some of new suits that had just come in.
"I've never really been a fan of tight collars, you think you can make this a bit more loose?"
In retrospect, the man had way of using a mix of tone and rhetoric to get a laugh out of me. I didn't even realize what he was doing until later that day. He managed to make the process of haggling prices rather enjoyable.
"Have you ever heard of man named Heracles? He lived a long long time ago."
Sarcastic banter here, fun fact there. I couldn't help but feel like I've know this man for more than the one hour that he had spent in my shop so far. It wasn't something I was used to. My shop carried some of the more expensive suits around, so my clientele was never much for chit chat. This man was something different.
"Hold on son, let me try that on."
I happened to look up from opening a box of shoes when I noticed the maroon ridges that spiraled out of the man's chest. I had never seen anything like it before in my entire life. The spiral scar covered his entire chest and centered around the left side of his chest. The scar tissue became darker and thicker as it traveled away from the center. He noticed my eyes.
"I know what you're thinking. It's alright. When you get to be around my age... well-"
And just like that he talked about age and the journey it encompasses for another twenty minutes while I took his measurements and began wrapping up. He spoke in the most general sense too. Not a single personal detail had been given up during that deflection. He managed to change the subject of my stare onto bigger and larger things. About life. The man paid for his new suit and I let him know when it would be ready for pick up. I had to know who he was so I asked him as he left. A simple "So what do you do for a living?" was all that I could manage.
"I'm a politician" he told me. He smiled and left. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | I met Mark in a coffee shop. I couldn't say it was love at first sight, but he was a real head turner, everywhere he went one or two people did a double take. I've never been one for conventional beauty, but my God, his skin. He was in his late 30s, but he had the perfect skin of a newborn child. He didn't have the scratches everyone else our age did. I had never seen a man like him, maybe a few models on billboards, but we all know they take a decently honest man and photoshop him into a saint.
I was intimidated, but just a second after I spoke to him, he interrupted me. He told me he thought I was beautiful, and I knew a man like this couldn't throw that out to every woman he meets. From then on it was like a dream, he was just perfect.
Yet, everywhere we went, I could feel the looming questions. All of them as they turned their heads away, trying to pretend they weren't staring, all thinking "Why her?", "How can someone like him trust someone like her?", or "Relationships like theirs never work". I know because I had thought the same things about similar couples, and never had the difference been so stark.
At first, I laid my makeup on thicker and thicker, every time we went out I felt like I wore a mask. He noticed this, and reassured me it didn't matter what everyone else thought, Mark told me "Mary, this is about us, not them. I trust you. I know your an even better person than I am, a few lies don't make you any less of a person". In time I relaxed my makeup, I even wore less than most people.
I had always been rather conservative, but with him, I was hesitant to get physical for an entirely different reason. I know he said he didn't care about my scars, and I know he believed that, but I feared what he would think when he saw me laid bare, saw the scars that blanketed me. Mostly the little scratches that everyone has, but I had a few nasty ones. I had a 5 inch one across my stomach, that I desperately didn't want him to see, he'd ask me to explain it!
I got it in highschool, a friend I'd had since childhood had mugged a woman, things went wrong and he stabbed her. He ran back to our apartment building and told me the whole thing, how he left her there in the alley, in her own blood. I had known him since we were both four, I couldn't let him go to prison. When the police questioned me, I covered for him, I told them he had spent the whole night with me. When I heard the woman died, my scar ached, it grew longer. He left town not long after that, and I didn't keep in touch, I couldn't handle it. Before he left, I did see his scar. It was awful, it went the whole length of his forearm, not something you saw often, only on the news or on TV.
The idea of Mark seeing me nude terrified me, I told him so. I even asked him if we could do it in the dark, at least the first time. Maybe if he felt my skin before he saw it, then it wouldn't shock him so much. He was silent. He told me not to worry, he told me his skin wasnt perfect. He had a scar too. A scar.
It was supposed to make me feel better, but it only multiplied my self consciousness. Only one scar? That just wasn't possible. He reassured me, he told me no matter how many scars I had, that he wouldn't ask questions, that he would still love me.
I cried there in his arms. I knew he was telling the truth. I don't know how long it was, but with time and his comfort, I calmed down. We moved to the bed, him talking off my shirt. He wasn't fazed at all, by all the blemishes, by the lies of all my 34 years on this earth, more than most.
Then he removed his shirt.
It was terrible. I shouted at the sight of it. It ran from his right shoulder blade to the lower left side of his stomach. It was wide. It was deep. I was shaking, and I saw the hurt in his eyes.
"No, no" he said quickly. "I had a car crash" he said "three years ago".
A car crash? Yes! An injury! It had to be, he couldn't lie, he was the most honest man I had ever met, he never let a mistruth breach his lips. He had to be telling the truth now.
I embraced him. I hugged him tight. I never felt so relieved, I never felt so loved. I knew I had been completed, that I would spend the rest of my life with this man.
We kissed, long and deep. I ran my fingers through his hair and caressed his neck. There I felt it. A roughness. A single tiny scar, just behind his left ear. Had I just not noticed it before? We had only known each other four months, I had not felt every inch of his head. Maybe it was a single lie, from who knows when. Maybe it just another injury, a tiny nick from falling back and hitting his head. Maybe he didn't even know he had it.
We are getting married soon. I haven't asked him about his scar again. I wonder if maybe I should. Maybe I should measure that blemish behind his ear and see if it grows after I ask him.
| Susan always had a way with words. She was the type of writer who could give a semicolon a personality, she was that great! My arms and legs were riddled with scars, but her ebony skin had always been clean from marks. It's because she always had a way to tell the truth, but tell it in such a way that you wouldn't realize what she meant.
For example, one time she had forgotten to do her homework and when called on she sheepishly told the teacher that she hadn't figured out the problem. Not that she couldn't but simply that she hand't.
When people asked her if they looked nice in particular clothes, she would either tell it straight or compliment individual features of the clothes- that girl was amazing! She helped me to get my way through school and taught me how to write better (hopefully it worked).
Susan and I didn't speak for many years. During this time, I heard small whisperings that Susan wasn't doing well but that she wouldn't identify what was wrong, and weasel her way out of any scenario she found herself in by sheer tongue twisting. No one could figure out what was wrong. And her unmarked flesh became a sign of health to some, and a worry for others.
The last day I saw Susan, she made a fatal mistake. She mixed up her words, and lied.
I was in town again for a New Year's party when I saw her familiar black hair through he crowd. I went to say hello and her appearance made me speechless. Her ebony skin had grayed out and her hair was thinner- even her once manicured nails were scraggly and unpolished.
"Susan, what's wrong?" I asked.
She smiled wide, "Why Martel, whatever would suggest that I am not alright?"
"Well, your appearance."
She sighed, and looked back at me, "Don't worry hon, I'll live."
Instantly, the horror spread across her face alongside the scar across her back. It created a deep hollow from her back to just across her collarbone. The skin was crinkled and sore looking.
"I have to leave!" She shouted. She bolted out of the room, her close friends chasing after her.
The next day I found out the news. Susan had killed herself that night. The preparations she made took months to complete. The party was her goodbye to us. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | It was the middle of the January, one of the better times to lie if you had to. In the cold winter months, you could get away with hiding your secrets under an oversized, baggy sweater. There just enough snow in the air that to make the sky seem to sparkle, but it was nothing compared to the sparkle in her piercing green eyes when they first made contact with mine. I swear, it was love at first sight.
Her hair was close cut, its raven black color a stark contrast to the white world which framed it. Her cheeks and nose had a splash of red from the cold. Fuzzy earmuffs, slightly oversized on her head, enveloped her ears. The cold steam of her breath escaped in short bursts from thin, pursed lips. She turned toward me a bit, wrapping her puffy red coat snugly around her body and drawing her arms over her chest for warmth. Skinny black jeans, the kind that showed off just enough of her curves, ran down into pristine white boots, the soles of which were almost obscured by the thin layer of snow on the ground.
In short, she was perfect.
Before I realized what I was doing, I hid my hands in my coat pockets self-consciously. I cursed myself for not having the foresight to wear gloves. Most of mine show up on my hands, and seeing all of them up front tends to give people the wrong first impression. See, the Scars have something of a twisted sense of humor. You tell a lie about some action you've taken, you get a scar on your arms or hands; tell a lie about somewhere you've been, you get a scar on your legs or feet; tell a lie about what you think, you get a scar somewhere on your head. Medical experts have been studying the scars for as far back as anyone can remember, but the best science can tell us is that they just... happen. For all science knows, the world could be home to legions of overly vigilant, painfully ironic fairies wielding pocket knives.
Gathering my courage, I unzipped my coat and started walking in her direction. I nearly stopped myself and turned away a couple of times, but I'd promised myself long ago to always be truthful to my feelings. Nonetheless, I stalled awkwardly when I came close. Her green eyes watching me, the smell of her perfume drifting over to me, the cold wind blowing against my shirt...
I took a deep breath. I probably looked like an idiot. But, now was not the time to panic. I laid my heart out on the line, in more ways than one. I told her she was one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen, and that if she would allow me the opportunity, I wanted to take her somewhere special. That might seem a bit direct, but it helps your case a lot when a girl can simply watch your chest to see if your feelings are genuine. Sure enough, no bloodstain appeared. She looked down at the snowy ground, her cheeks growing even more red in the cold weather.
"Alright," she said, her lips teasing into a slight smile. "What did you have in mind?"
Good question. What did I have in mind?
We ended up in a nearby restaurant, though I can't for the life of me remember how. I got really lucky is probably the best answer. As we took our seats in the booth, she took off her outer jacket, revealing a white sweater underneath. I didn't think anything of it at first.
Slowly, as if unsure of herself, she unzipped the sweater too and pulled it down her arms, not fully off but not quite on either. Beneath it, she was wearing a rather tight shirt which revealed her slender arms and the fair skin of her midriff. I was caught completely off-guard by her drastic change of apparel. She shivered a bit and rubber her shoulders.
I sat there speechless, transfixed by her beauty. Her skin was so... perfect. Not a single scar marred her arms, her stomach, her neck, or anything. I realized I must have been staring, and turned a way just a bit too quickly.
"It's okay," she said softly, pulling her coat back on. "I wanted you to see that, since... I mean, you were so up front with me and... but not in a bad way, and... I guess I could've just told you outright..." She stared at the table a bit too pointedly.
I smiled to myself. At least I wasn't the only one who was bad at this.
...
That was three years ago, back when life was so much simpler. Back before the diagnosis, before the painful treatments which dragged on into weeks and then months. Before we learned about the cancer that was eating away, slowly but surely, at her brain.
The doctors told us nothing could be done. They could treat her, give her drugs to ease the suffering and ultimately the transition, but she was never going to get better. They said she would be... gone... within a few months. I stared at them like a hawk as they spoke, scrutinizing every inch of skin as I processed each sentence, but no Scars came. It was the truth.
We were both left to ask why it had to be her.
She grew irritable and lashed out, though I could hardly blame her. They said it was pressing on her brain, altering her mood and her thoughts. I'm not ashamed to admit that I bawled my eyes out when I first heard the news. But I had to be strong, I had to keep going. I had to be a rock, no matter how hard that would be.
As her time in the hospital grew, so did the doses they gave her. On one of her worse nights, I sat there with her as she tried to process all the built up frustration. I could see in her eyes that she didn't fully recognize me, a look I would never grow used to.
With no other outlet, she turned it on me.
"Why did this have to happen?" she suddenly screamed at me, choking back a sob. Tears streamed down her cheeks. "I... I hate you!"
For a moment, neither of us said anything. We sat in near silence, interrupted only by the occasional sob. I watched her somberly, not daring to react. And that's when I saw it.
A large pool of blood soaked into her hospital gown, just above her heart. The only Scar she would ever have.
...
Thanks for reading!
-ShutainzuGeito | Susan always had a way with words. She was the type of writer who could give a semicolon a personality, she was that great! My arms and legs were riddled with scars, but her ebony skin had always been clean from marks. It's because she always had a way to tell the truth, but tell it in such a way that you wouldn't realize what she meant.
For example, one time she had forgotten to do her homework and when called on she sheepishly told the teacher that she hadn't figured out the problem. Not that she couldn't but simply that she hand't.
When people asked her if they looked nice in particular clothes, she would either tell it straight or compliment individual features of the clothes- that girl was amazing! She helped me to get my way through school and taught me how to write better (hopefully it worked).
Susan and I didn't speak for many years. During this time, I heard small whisperings that Susan wasn't doing well but that she wouldn't identify what was wrong, and weasel her way out of any scenario she found herself in by sheer tongue twisting. No one could figure out what was wrong. And her unmarked flesh became a sign of health to some, and a worry for others.
The last day I saw Susan, she made a fatal mistake. She mixed up her words, and lied.
I was in town again for a New Year's party when I saw her familiar black hair through he crowd. I went to say hello and her appearance made me speechless. Her ebony skin had grayed out and her hair was thinner- even her once manicured nails were scraggly and unpolished.
"Susan, what's wrong?" I asked.
She smiled wide, "Why Martel, whatever would suggest that I am not alright?"
"Well, your appearance."
She sighed, and looked back at me, "Don't worry hon, I'll live."
Instantly, the horror spread across her face alongside the scar across her back. It created a deep hollow from her back to just across her collarbone. The skin was crinkled and sore looking.
"I have to leave!" She shouted. She bolted out of the room, her close friends chasing after her.
The next day I found out the news. Susan had killed herself that night. The preparations she made took months to complete. The party was her goodbye to us. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | It's a mad world
Nowadays you are asked to take your clothes off in a job interview for god's sake, even in court in some countries, I mean come on sometimes you actually need to lie goddamnit sometimes it actually does some real good but it literally scars you for life...
I have my fair number of scars, mostly very light ones , I can take my shirt off when I go to the beach without most of them showing , heck I can have sex with a girl and they won't notice most, the more necessary you felt that the lie was the better hidden the scar is, so most of mine are in addition to very light on ... convenient spots. I have scars on the back of my thighs, I have two behind my ears, I have some on my armpits . I once heard of a guy who had one on his penis , it turns out how you feel about the lie makes a huge difference in what scar it will leave you and where, just imagine that guy getting undressed in front of a woman , or man whatever he is into anyway. Well at least some girls say scars are sexy, or so I’ve heard.
You do get used to it but still... I once had a pretty long conversation with a war veteran about scars , now that was scarring. He took he shirt off to show me his body he was FULL. I first noticed two bullets scars , didn't think I could recognize them but damn do they look different. The bullet scars though , they were nice compared to the rest , they were in battle defending his country but the rest of his body was more scar tissue than actual skin, there were spots where I couldn't even make out how many scars he had. They formed one big pile of butchered up skin. During our conversation I found out that he actually got all the visible scars he had on his upper body in a single week , he was taken as a prisoner of war and trust me , the only countries that actually give even a single flying fuck about the Geneva convention are the ones that have already won the war. Long story short , pretty much all the scars were from the lies he told trying to lead the enemies away while they were torturing him instead of giving them real information , it's mad how they can torture you into treachery without leaving a scar on your body. It is true though , EVERYONE breaks given enough time.
The war veteran story is my go-to example on why we shouldn't judge people by their scars. There is a whole other story that I just can't get myself to tell. Too goddamn sad , well probably not so when you just hear it as a story but you were not there talking with him you did not see the sorrow and the chaos on his face.
His name was George. In my country he have to serve in the military , mandatory service . The military of course is purely defensive and the service is easier than professional militaries naturally. George was pretty much the nicest guy we all knew , he would never even lie. There had been a few occasions where others were mad at him because he would tell our officers about anything they asked and being the military there were consequences , he really , actually never lied. We also noticed after a couple of months that even though most would get out of bath completely naked since we were only men, he would get in and out always wearing a t-shirt, and whenever he had to change his t-shirt without taking a bath he hid, went to the bathroom or was alone someway. We all wondered but we thought that he just lied without us noticing and wanted to hide his scars , all the others still believe that but I know.
George and I became friends over time. We would go out for a drink , we would even go to the gym or for a run together sometimes. The park where we run was closer to his home so one day when it started raining he told me to come take a shower at his place, he'd lend me some clothes and drive me home. He let me get in to take a shower first. I got in finished my shower and got out, he went in right after me. Seconds after he got in I realized a left my shoes in the bathroom and I sweat a lot so my shoes get smelly so I wanted to get them to the balcony. Being used to it from my service, who we had both finished some months prior to that day, where we didn't really care if someone saw us naked I just opened the door and went in without knocking. God I wish I hadn't.
I saw George's back as he was getting in the shower, he just froze as he saw the awe in my face when I stared at his single scar, one single scar in the entirety of his body , it was a huge scar spanning diagonally on his whole back , it was so large it reminded me of video game characters , and so deep I thought it was see-through where the skin met the spine. I just looked at him and he knew, he got a look that was stuck in his face for the rest of the week and just said "Let me finish my shower and I'll explain".
And so he finished , and so he explained , and so I was moved , then I processed what he said and I was devastated , and then I thought about it once more and I started to cry , then he let go and started to cry even more than I did.
It was one of the saddest stories I had ever heard. Until you are 13-16 depending on the person you get no scars from lying, I mean come on who doesn’t lie as a kid. One day you wake up with an already fainted scar across your whole face which goes away in a day or two and that is how you know you now get scars from lying. So George was relatively lucky as he got his initiation scar a couple of weeks after he became sixteen.
When George was 14 his mother got cancer. His 3 years younger sister got cancer too a year later, while his father had died in an accident when George was 9. His mother was given a 60% chance of getting rid of the cancer for good at the beginning with chemotherapy. She didn’t. A month after she learned that her cancer got too spread to be completely stopped, her daughter got cancer too. George said the doctor believed that his mother must have been exposed to radiation when pregnant with his sister else it was just a very tragic coincidence that they both got cancer in such a small time interval with his sister at such a young age.
George’s mother stopped chemotherapy just before he became 15 since the doctor said it wouldn’t help anymore. His sister was never given much chance, a mere 10% that chemotherapy would even do anything.
His mother couldn’t get out of bed just before George turned 16. At the same time the doctor told his sister that chemotherapy couldn’t do anything anymore and that she was giving her about another year and 6 to 8 months in a “good enough” health.
Naturally George and his sister wanted their mother to die knowing her daughter at least would survive. So they thought they’d lie to her, tell her that her daughter was getting better. George learned how to do makeup and helped his sister so she would seem in good health no matter what happened. They told their mum that even though she had gotten past cancer she started paying attention to the details of life and that she wanted to start putting on make up to look better and her being 13 at the time her mother believed her.
And so George kept lying, with a lie that started a few weeks after he got his first scar, he kept saying the same lie to his mother everyday. His mother got worse and so did his sister. His mother died 6 months after George got 16 years old, his sister one month after that, the doctor predicted wrong. The last two months that their mother was alive his sister couldn’t get out of bed and so every day he lied to his mother that his sister had to study , or that she didn’t get a very good grade on a test and didn’t want to disappoint her , or that she went out with friends whenever his mother asked why his sister didn't visit much. On the days his sister was feeling better she put on make-up, gathered all her strength and walked enough to go sit beside her mother’s bed. And so George kept lying so that his mother would die happy, every day for hours each day he lied to his dying mother that his dying sister was well, a few weeks before the end he told her that his sister had gotten fully rid of her tumor while his sister would faint trying to get up and see her mother. And George kept lying even the last few days when his mother could hardly see or talk and asked to see her daughter, so George said that she went abroad in a school program for students good in literature related subjects and she called him to relay her love for her mother to her, while she was in the hospital 20 meters away on the same floor, hanging on to life by a thread. Then his mother died and he couldn’t lie anymore, his sister died and he could hardly feel like he could live anymore.
All that left him with one big scar, the same lie being told over and over and over again devastating him even more each time, killing him inside and out a bit more each time creating a scar that would never heal. Creating a scar that was bigger than anyone I and maybe anyone else living on this godforsaken planet has ever seen. Creating a scar that made every other evil, obstacle or problem seem redundant, turning George into the best person I had ever known, into the best person anyone that met him had ever known.
It’s a mad world , and it’s mad to judge people by their scars , some carry them with sorrow , some with pride , some with regret some with happiness , some only need one , some have none , some can’t seem to get enough.
.
This is my first ever prompt , pretty much the first story i've ever written to be honest ( outside of school of course). Feedback is appreciated
Also sorry if it got too sad too fast in the end I was listening to Tears in Heaven by Eric Clapton when I started writing , a very sad song who I only found out about yesterday, worth a listen.
Edit: So I'm done with changes to the story , may edit in the future if I find any spelling or grammar mistakes | Susan always had a way with words. She was the type of writer who could give a semicolon a personality, she was that great! My arms and legs were riddled with scars, but her ebony skin had always been clean from marks. It's because she always had a way to tell the truth, but tell it in such a way that you wouldn't realize what she meant.
For example, one time she had forgotten to do her homework and when called on she sheepishly told the teacher that she hadn't figured out the problem. Not that she couldn't but simply that she hand't.
When people asked her if they looked nice in particular clothes, she would either tell it straight or compliment individual features of the clothes- that girl was amazing! She helped me to get my way through school and taught me how to write better (hopefully it worked).
Susan and I didn't speak for many years. During this time, I heard small whisperings that Susan wasn't doing well but that she wouldn't identify what was wrong, and weasel her way out of any scenario she found herself in by sheer tongue twisting. No one could figure out what was wrong. And her unmarked flesh became a sign of health to some, and a worry for others.
The last day I saw Susan, she made a fatal mistake. She mixed up her words, and lied.
I was in town again for a New Year's party when I saw her familiar black hair through he crowd. I went to say hello and her appearance made me speechless. Her ebony skin had grayed out and her hair was thinner- even her once manicured nails were scraggly and unpolished.
"Susan, what's wrong?" I asked.
She smiled wide, "Why Martel, whatever would suggest that I am not alright?"
"Well, your appearance."
She sighed, and looked back at me, "Don't worry hon, I'll live."
Instantly, the horror spread across her face alongside the scar across her back. It created a deep hollow from her back to just across her collarbone. The skin was crinkled and sore looking.
"I have to leave!" She shouted. She bolted out of the room, her close friends chasing after her.
The next day I found out the news. Susan had killed herself that night. The preparations she made took months to complete. The party was her goodbye to us. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | I met Mark in a coffee shop. I couldn't say it was love at first sight, but he was a real head turner, everywhere he went one or two people did a double take. I've never been one for conventional beauty, but my God, his skin. He was in his late 30s, but he had the perfect skin of a newborn child. He didn't have the scratches everyone else our age did. I had never seen a man like him, maybe a few models on billboards, but we all know they take a decently honest man and photoshop him into a saint.
I was intimidated, but just a second after I spoke to him, he interrupted me. He told me he thought I was beautiful, and I knew a man like this couldn't throw that out to every woman he meets. From then on it was like a dream, he was just perfect.
Yet, everywhere we went, I could feel the looming questions. All of them as they turned their heads away, trying to pretend they weren't staring, all thinking "Why her?", "How can someone like him trust someone like her?", or "Relationships like theirs never work". I know because I had thought the same things about similar couples, and never had the difference been so stark.
At first, I laid my makeup on thicker and thicker, every time we went out I felt like I wore a mask. He noticed this, and reassured me it didn't matter what everyone else thought, Mark told me "Mary, this is about us, not them. I trust you. I know your an even better person than I am, a few lies don't make you any less of a person". In time I relaxed my makeup, I even wore less than most people.
I had always been rather conservative, but with him, I was hesitant to get physical for an entirely different reason. I know he said he didn't care about my scars, and I know he believed that, but I feared what he would think when he saw me laid bare, saw the scars that blanketed me. Mostly the little scratches that everyone has, but I had a few nasty ones. I had a 5 inch one across my stomach, that I desperately didn't want him to see, he'd ask me to explain it!
I got it in highschool, a friend I'd had since childhood had mugged a woman, things went wrong and he stabbed her. He ran back to our apartment building and told me the whole thing, how he left her there in the alley, in her own blood. I had known him since we were both four, I couldn't let him go to prison. When the police questioned me, I covered for him, I told them he had spent the whole night with me. When I heard the woman died, my scar ached, it grew longer. He left town not long after that, and I didn't keep in touch, I couldn't handle it. Before he left, I did see his scar. It was awful, it went the whole length of his forearm, not something you saw often, only on the news or on TV.
The idea of Mark seeing me nude terrified me, I told him so. I even asked him if we could do it in the dark, at least the first time. Maybe if he felt my skin before he saw it, then it wouldn't shock him so much. He was silent. He told me not to worry, he told me his skin wasnt perfect. He had a scar too. A scar.
It was supposed to make me feel better, but it only multiplied my self consciousness. Only one scar? That just wasn't possible. He reassured me, he told me no matter how many scars I had, that he wouldn't ask questions, that he would still love me.
I cried there in his arms. I knew he was telling the truth. I don't know how long it was, but with time and his comfort, I calmed down. We moved to the bed, him talking off my shirt. He wasn't fazed at all, by all the blemishes, by the lies of all my 34 years on this earth, more than most.
Then he removed his shirt.
It was terrible. I shouted at the sight of it. It ran from his right shoulder blade to the lower left side of his stomach. It was wide. It was deep. I was shaking, and I saw the hurt in his eyes.
"No, no" he said quickly. "I had a car crash" he said "three years ago".
A car crash? Yes! An injury! It had to be, he couldn't lie, he was the most honest man I had ever met, he never let a mistruth breach his lips. He had to be telling the truth now.
I embraced him. I hugged him tight. I never felt so relieved, I never felt so loved. I knew I had been completed, that I would spend the rest of my life with this man.
We kissed, long and deep. I ran my fingers through his hair and caressed his neck. There I felt it. A roughness. A single tiny scar, just behind his left ear. Had I just not noticed it before? We had only known each other four months, I had not felt every inch of his head. Maybe it was a single lie, from who knows when. Maybe it just another injury, a tiny nick from falling back and hitting his head. Maybe he didn't even know he had it.
We are getting married soon. I haven't asked him about his scar again. I wonder if maybe I should. Maybe I should measure that blemish behind his ear and see if it grows after I ask him.
| I remember when I got my first scar. For some reason, children aged 12 and under were exempt from the rule, and after I turned 13 I told my mom I hated her and that I wished I was never born. Huge gash, right across the face. There was so much blood.
My mom was devastated. She expected me to get my first few cuts like everyone else: lying about doing my homework, lying about cleaning my room, whether I was finished setting the table. But here was this 13-year-old in the ICU, bleeding openly like someone took a cleaver to his face that only cut skin deep. Bone was showing in places, they tried to stitch me up but told me that my scar would be the worst they've ever seen on a kid.
I'm 25 now. Marked as a horrible person for something I said when I was still a kid. No one wants to talk to me. No where will hire me. I am truly alone.
I never lied again. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | It's a mad world
Nowadays you are asked to take your clothes off in a job interview for god's sake, even in court in some countries, I mean come on sometimes you actually need to lie goddamnit sometimes it actually does some real good but it literally scars you for life...
I have my fair number of scars, mostly very light ones , I can take my shirt off when I go to the beach without most of them showing , heck I can have sex with a girl and they won't notice most, the more necessary you felt that the lie was the better hidden the scar is, so most of mine are in addition to very light on ... convenient spots. I have scars on the back of my thighs, I have two behind my ears, I have some on my armpits . I once heard of a guy who had one on his penis , it turns out how you feel about the lie makes a huge difference in what scar it will leave you and where, just imagine that guy getting undressed in front of a woman , or man whatever he is into anyway. Well at least some girls say scars are sexy, or so I’ve heard.
You do get used to it but still... I once had a pretty long conversation with a war veteran about scars , now that was scarring. He took he shirt off to show me his body he was FULL. I first noticed two bullets scars , didn't think I could recognize them but damn do they look different. The bullet scars though , they were nice compared to the rest , they were in battle defending his country but the rest of his body was more scar tissue than actual skin, there were spots where I couldn't even make out how many scars he had. They formed one big pile of butchered up skin. During our conversation I found out that he actually got all the visible scars he had on his upper body in a single week , he was taken as a prisoner of war and trust me , the only countries that actually give even a single flying fuck about the Geneva convention are the ones that have already won the war. Long story short , pretty much all the scars were from the lies he told trying to lead the enemies away while they were torturing him instead of giving them real information , it's mad how they can torture you into treachery without leaving a scar on your body. It is true though , EVERYONE breaks given enough time.
The war veteran story is my go-to example on why we shouldn't judge people by their scars. There is a whole other story that I just can't get myself to tell. Too goddamn sad , well probably not so when you just hear it as a story but you were not there talking with him you did not see the sorrow and the chaos on his face.
His name was George. In my country he have to serve in the military , mandatory service . The military of course is purely defensive and the service is easier than professional militaries naturally. George was pretty much the nicest guy we all knew , he would never even lie. There had been a few occasions where others were mad at him because he would tell our officers about anything they asked and being the military there were consequences , he really , actually never lied. We also noticed after a couple of months that even though most would get out of bath completely naked since we were only men, he would get in and out always wearing a t-shirt, and whenever he had to change his t-shirt without taking a bath he hid, went to the bathroom or was alone someway. We all wondered but we thought that he just lied without us noticing and wanted to hide his scars , all the others still believe that but I know.
George and I became friends over time. We would go out for a drink , we would even go to the gym or for a run together sometimes. The park where we run was closer to his home so one day when it started raining he told me to come take a shower at his place, he'd lend me some clothes and drive me home. He let me get in to take a shower first. I got in finished my shower and got out, he went in right after me. Seconds after he got in I realized a left my shoes in the bathroom and I sweat a lot so my shoes get smelly so I wanted to get them to the balcony. Being used to it from my service, who we had both finished some months prior to that day, where we didn't really care if someone saw us naked I just opened the door and went in without knocking. God I wish I hadn't.
I saw George's back as he was getting in the shower, he just froze as he saw the awe in my face when I stared at his single scar, one single scar in the entirety of his body , it was a huge scar spanning diagonally on his whole back , it was so large it reminded me of video game characters , and so deep I thought it was see-through where the skin met the spine. I just looked at him and he knew, he got a look that was stuck in his face for the rest of the week and just said "Let me finish my shower and I'll explain".
And so he finished , and so he explained , and so I was moved , then I processed what he said and I was devastated , and then I thought about it once more and I started to cry , then he let go and started to cry even more than I did.
It was one of the saddest stories I had ever heard. Until you are 13-16 depending on the person you get no scars from lying, I mean come on who doesn’t lie as a kid. One day you wake up with an already fainted scar across your whole face which goes away in a day or two and that is how you know you now get scars from lying. So George was relatively lucky as he got his initiation scar a couple of weeks after he became sixteen.
When George was 14 his mother got cancer. His 3 years younger sister got cancer too a year later, while his father had died in an accident when George was 9. His mother was given a 60% chance of getting rid of the cancer for good at the beginning with chemotherapy. She didn’t. A month after she learned that her cancer got too spread to be completely stopped, her daughter got cancer too. George said the doctor believed that his mother must have been exposed to radiation when pregnant with his sister else it was just a very tragic coincidence that they both got cancer in such a small time interval with his sister at such a young age.
George’s mother stopped chemotherapy just before he became 15 since the doctor said it wouldn’t help anymore. His sister was never given much chance, a mere 10% that chemotherapy would even do anything.
His mother couldn’t get out of bed just before George turned 16. At the same time the doctor told his sister that chemotherapy couldn’t do anything anymore and that she was giving her about another year and 6 to 8 months in a “good enough” health.
Naturally George and his sister wanted their mother to die knowing her daughter at least would survive. So they thought they’d lie to her, tell her that her daughter was getting better. George learned how to do makeup and helped his sister so she would seem in good health no matter what happened. They told their mum that even though she had gotten past cancer she started paying attention to the details of life and that she wanted to start putting on make up to look better and her being 13 at the time her mother believed her.
And so George kept lying, with a lie that started a few weeks after he got his first scar, he kept saying the same lie to his mother everyday. His mother got worse and so did his sister. His mother died 6 months after George got 16 years old, his sister one month after that, the doctor predicted wrong. The last two months that their mother was alive his sister couldn’t get out of bed and so every day he lied to his mother that his sister had to study , or that she didn’t get a very good grade on a test and didn’t want to disappoint her , or that she went out with friends whenever his mother asked why his sister didn't visit much. On the days his sister was feeling better she put on make-up, gathered all her strength and walked enough to go sit beside her mother’s bed. And so George kept lying so that his mother would die happy, every day for hours each day he lied to his dying mother that his dying sister was well, a few weeks before the end he told her that his sister had gotten fully rid of her tumor while his sister would faint trying to get up and see her mother. And George kept lying even the last few days when his mother could hardly see or talk and asked to see her daughter, so George said that she went abroad in a school program for students good in literature related subjects and she called him to relay her love for her mother to her, while she was in the hospital 20 meters away on the same floor, hanging on to life by a thread. Then his mother died and he couldn’t lie anymore, his sister died and he could hardly feel like he could live anymore.
All that left him with one big scar, the same lie being told over and over and over again devastating him even more each time, killing him inside and out a bit more each time creating a scar that would never heal. Creating a scar that was bigger than anyone I and maybe anyone else living on this godforsaken planet has ever seen. Creating a scar that made every other evil, obstacle or problem seem redundant, turning George into the best person I had ever known, into the best person anyone that met him had ever known.
It’s a mad world , and it’s mad to judge people by their scars , some carry them with sorrow , some with pride , some with regret some with happiness , some only need one , some have none , some can’t seem to get enough.
.
This is my first ever prompt , pretty much the first story i've ever written to be honest ( outside of school of course). Feedback is appreciated
Also sorry if it got too sad too fast in the end I was listening to Tears in Heaven by Eric Clapton when I started writing , a very sad song who I only found out about yesterday, worth a listen.
Edit: So I'm done with changes to the story , may edit in the future if I find any spelling or grammar mistakes | I remember when I got my first scar. For some reason, children aged 12 and under were exempt from the rule, and after I turned 13 I told my mom I hated her and that I wished I was never born. Huge gash, right across the face. There was so much blood.
My mom was devastated. She expected me to get my first few cuts like everyone else: lying about doing my homework, lying about cleaning my room, whether I was finished setting the table. But here was this 13-year-old in the ICU, bleeding openly like someone took a cleaver to his face that only cut skin deep. Bone was showing in places, they tried to stitch me up but told me that my scar would be the worst they've ever seen on a kid.
I'm 25 now. Marked as a horrible person for something I said when I was still a kid. No one wants to talk to me. No where will hire me. I am truly alone.
I never lied again. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | She said: "I'm Catholic, and for my first confession we were herded before the priest and told to tell him our sins. At seven years old, I knew I had to make something up or be punished for the sin of Satan, Pride."
That was the only time I couldn't tell the truth so, "'I'm a liar,'" I lied. | I couldn't bring myself to ask Jack what it was for. He was such a nice guy, obviously, and he always had a kind word or a smile. Always ready to lend a hand, that kind of guy. Despite having just mopped the racquetball court with me, he was nothing if not a gracious winner. It just felt rude to ask, and even worse to stare, especially here in the locker room.
"You're curious, I know," he said with a grin tinged with sadness. He pulled his fresh polo onto his shoulders and over his torso. I looked down. I'd been caught. "It's understandable. It's pretty bad, yeah?"
"Worst I've seen, man."
He sighed. "You want to know what I did? What I said?"
"If you want to tell me."
Jack's grin faded as he leaned close. "I do." | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | I live in a world when you lie you get a scar. The bigger the scar, the worse the lie. I apparently was in an accident a year ago and now I can't remember things that well. So there I am at the store and I see this girl with one extremely large and deep looking scar. I figured I should go ask her what she said because it seems interesting there was only one lie. So I asked her and she said she used to be my wife. She couldn't look me in the eye and she said it was "I love you."
Edit: Yes I know someone else did something similar to this. Just saying before downvotes happen. | I couldn't bring myself to ask Jack what it was for. He was such a nice guy, obviously, and he always had a kind word or a smile. Always ready to lend a hand, that kind of guy. Despite having just mopped the racquetball court with me, he was nothing if not a gracious winner. It just felt rude to ask, and even worse to stare, especially here in the locker room.
"You're curious, I know," he said with a grin tinged with sadness. He pulled his fresh polo onto his shoulders and over his torso. I looked down. I'd been caught. "It's understandable. It's pretty bad, yeah?"
"Worst I've seen, man."
He sighed. "You want to know what I did? What I said?"
"If you want to tell me."
Jack's grin faded as he leaned close. "I do." | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | "Mr. Graves, are you certain your client has been telling the truth?" The voice of the judge cut through the room. I glanced up from my papers, and stood up, taking off my gloves and scarf.
The jury panel gasped a little bit when they saw my unscarred face and hands. More than a few looked jealous, but most merely looked impressed. I nodded. Good. I had affixed myself as a person who told the truth in their mind.
My client, meanwhile, was a mass of scars. They marred his face, hands, neck, biceps. A few of them were deep and ugly. He was staring at his handcuffed hands, looking despondent.
I cleared my throat. "Yes, your honor. And I intend to prove not only to you, but to the men and women of the jury that the evidence the state has not does not prove my client's innocence, but that the evidence proves his innocence!"
The jury mumbled amongst themselves as I launched into my opening statement.
---
"Thank you, Mr. Graves," my client said, grinning in my office, wearing his ratty yet comfortable clothes once again. "I thought I'd be locked up for good, but you... you pulled off a miracle. "
I smiled a little, straightening my posture and linking my fingers on the desk. "It wasn't me, Mr. Williams. It was your testimony that made the most compelling argument."
Williams smiled, the scars on his face stretching and distorting.
"Mr. Graves, you're a godsend. I can never thank you enough. I'm going to go and try and pull my life together."
There. A small little slice, right by his ear. It wasn't much, and he didn't notice it, and I didn't stare. No one deserved to be caught, especially in the lies they tell themselves.
Mr. Williams thanked me profusely, continued to make that same promise that tore open that scar a little more each time, then left.
When he was gone, I once again stood in the mirror in my office. I unbuttoned my shirt, allowing myself a wince as I opened the shirt a bit further. Yep, it was still there. The one scar that I had from telling myself the lie. The biggest lie I had ever told, and it was the only reason I was still around.
I took a deep breath, looked myself dead in the mirror, and mouthed the lie to myself.
The pain lanced through me as the scar re-opened once again, starting at my collarbone, opening up through my stomach, curling around my belly button, and immediately soaking my pant leg with blood as it ended somewhere in my inner thigh.
The pain had been enough to knock me out the first time I had told that lie. My parents had rushed me to the hospital. Now, all I did was grunt, set my teeth, and reach for the suture kit on the counter in front of me.
That lie hurt, even more each time I said it. But I had to let myself know I was okay. Even if it was a lie. | I couldn't bring myself to ask Jack what it was for. He was such a nice guy, obviously, and he always had a kind word or a smile. Always ready to lend a hand, that kind of guy. Despite having just mopped the racquetball court with me, he was nothing if not a gracious winner. It just felt rude to ask, and even worse to stare, especially here in the locker room.
"You're curious, I know," he said with a grin tinged with sadness. He pulled his fresh polo onto his shoulders and over his torso. I looked down. I'd been caught. "It's understandable. It's pretty bad, yeah?"
"Worst I've seen, man."
He sighed. "You want to know what I did? What I said?"
"If you want to tell me."
Jack's grin faded as he leaned close. "I do." | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | We lived side by side spending our days joined at the hips so much so people thought we were brothers. My skin was covered in them by the time I was 12 while he hadn’t got a single mark yet, I was slightly envious of his clear skin that impressed people for a boy his age. When I asked him how he did it, he simply shrugged and said anything was possible with a slight grin. His vague reply made me more jealous, sure I lied more than most kids my age but most of the lies were petty and insignificant that I didn’t think twice about. Plus, the marks I got didn’t hurt one bit so it just sorta added up after a while.
Then childhood ended and I moved away right before I started high-school. We didn’t really keep in contact with each other like how most kids promise but never do. It wasn’t any different with us, by the time my 20s came around he was just a hazy childhood friend I had all but forgotten about.
It was blistering hot that day, too hot to wear anything but short sleeves and pants. I hated wearing those types of clothes, while most people’s scars were skinny and faded into their skin. Mine had become more gashed and discolored as I grew older, I was one of the unlucky ones whose skin healed badly to these marks. Just genetics they told me.
I was walking back from the bus stop when I saw him in front of me, his clear pale skin devoid of any scars got my attention first before I saw his face. When I looked up at his face that’s when I recognized him, I called out his name and waved slightly at him. His face looked blank for a moment before lighting up in recognition as well. His pasty lips smiled at me and called me over, while we caught up all I could notice was how unblemished his arms and legs looked. Scars usually showed up first on your limbs before covering your whole body.
He must have noticed my gawking and laughed a bit before telling me to not trust your first impressions. I was confused by what he meant, but when I asked he just smiled a bit wider.
“Ben, I was actually kind of happy you were jealous of me when we were younger. In a way, I was just lucky they showed up in places where no one noticed.” He said to me, before turning his back and walking away before I could reply.
I noticed a painful red looking scar peeking out from the back of his neck and drops of red starting to stain his white shirt.
| I couldn't bring myself to ask Jack what it was for. He was such a nice guy, obviously, and he always had a kind word or a smile. Always ready to lend a hand, that kind of guy. Despite having just mopped the racquetball court with me, he was nothing if not a gracious winner. It just felt rude to ask, and even worse to stare, especially here in the locker room.
"You're curious, I know," he said with a grin tinged with sadness. He pulled his fresh polo onto his shoulders and over his torso. I looked down. I'd been caught. "It's understandable. It's pretty bad, yeah?"
"Worst I've seen, man."
He sighed. "You want to know what I did? What I said?"
"If you want to tell me."
Jack's grin faded as he leaned close. "I do." | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | We met at a bar one evening. She had a beer in her hand, something local on tap, about half-drained. We struck up some conversation - weather or sports or some such, I don't remember, small talk though. She made some passing comment about liking my ears, and I almost brushed it off as false praise - I think they stick out a bit too much - before I noticed her smooth skin; not a single scar visible.
I had my own fair share of lies cut into my skin - most minor, a few major. Even the bigger ones I'd usually defend, outside of a big one on my arm. "I've been clean for a year!". Even so, that's the least regretful mistake from that part of my life - I'm proud to say I can say that line now without the scar growing larger.
I got her name - Jane - and later, her number. We ended up setting up a date for the following weekend, and hit it off quickly. Similar interests - hiking, video games, cooking... Well, mostly same interests, anyway. I remember her coy smile when I said I liked her Coltrane collection, and a line of skin on my forearm darkened. Can't stand jazz, really.
I thought for about a month that she was perfectly honest, until we went to bed together. Jane seemed reluctant to take off her shirt, but that same honesty that kept her skin smooth must have demanded she not cover up now - her bra came off, and across the inside of her left breast was the deepest scar that I've ever seen. It wasn't a discoloration like most scars - it was like a knotted rope was underneath the skin.
It wasn't the sort of thing you can comment on lightly, but at the same time, it would be more conspicuous to ignore it. She was clearly distressed, waiting for my reaction. I wasn't sure what to say, but we were both naked at that point so there was no hoping that a lie would be covered up by clothing.
"There's obviously a story here, and I'm curious, but... Right now, it's not important. I'm willing to wait until you're willing to tell me on your own terms" I said, and punctuated the sentence with a kiss. She ran a hand through my short hair, and the encounter continued naturally after that. But frankly the details are none of your business.
It was another six months before I learned any more details about that scar of hers. We were quite serious by now, and I'd had plenty of opportunities to see it again at this point.
Jane told me that her parents were going to be coming by for Thanksgiving, and that she wanted me to be there. Her face was strangely tense, and when I pressed for information, she just said that she didn't feel up for explaining. What could I say to that? So, I didn't press the issue, and waited for Thursday to roll around.
Her parents showed up - her mother was a frumpy sort of woman, with a flowery dress, and her father was tall, but had a thick neck and a double chin. I was surprised the two of them could have produced such a beautiful daughter, but all the same I could see some resemblance, particularly in the eyes and nose.
The first thing I heard her father say - before even "hello" - was right after he jerked a thumb in my direction. "Is this that friend of yours? She looks like a fucking dyke." Her mother agreed emphatically. I found myself dumbstruck, unable to respond. Jane laughed uncomfortably, but her father didn't seem to notice - he was sniffing the air.
"Turkey's already on, eh? Surprised you haven't caught yourself a husband yet, with your cooking. Hah!"
"No luck yet, but I'm sure I'll find one one of these days." Jane replied with a weak smile, clearly hiding a wince as the scar above her heart wrought its way deeper into her skin. | I couldn't bring myself to ask Jack what it was for. He was such a nice guy, obviously, and he always had a kind word or a smile. Always ready to lend a hand, that kind of guy. Despite having just mopped the racquetball court with me, he was nothing if not a gracious winner. It just felt rude to ask, and even worse to stare, especially here in the locker room.
"You're curious, I know," he said with a grin tinged with sadness. He pulled his fresh polo onto his shoulders and over his torso. I looked down. I'd been caught. "It's understandable. It's pretty bad, yeah?"
"Worst I've seen, man."
He sighed. "You want to know what I did? What I said?"
"If you want to tell me."
Jack's grin faded as he leaned close. "I do." | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be.
What did they do?
What did they lie about?
In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people.
I knew lying was wrong, most of the time.
But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you.
You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time.
You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened: You lied.
It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder; Can I trust you?
Trust?
What was trust in this world?
The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne.
You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true.
But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer?
It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold.
You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be.
It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar.
We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away.
We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed.
We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear.
But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back.
The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder.
When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know.
Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off.
Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze.
"What do you want?" he asked.
And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar.
"Nothing". | I couldn't bring myself to ask Jack what it was for. He was such a nice guy, obviously, and he always had a kind word or a smile. Always ready to lend a hand, that kind of guy. Despite having just mopped the racquetball court with me, he was nothing if not a gracious winner. It just felt rude to ask, and even worse to stare, especially here in the locker room.
"You're curious, I know," he said with a grin tinged with sadness. He pulled his fresh polo onto his shoulders and over his torso. I looked down. I'd been caught. "It's understandable. It's pretty bad, yeah?"
"Worst I've seen, man."
He sighed. "You want to know what I did? What I said?"
"If you want to tell me."
Jack's grin faded as he leaned close. "I do." | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | It was the middle of the January, one of the better times to lie if you had to. In the cold winter months, you could get away with hiding your secrets under an oversized, baggy sweater. There just enough snow in the air that to make the sky seem to sparkle, but it was nothing compared to the sparkle in her piercing green eyes when they first made contact with mine. I swear, it was love at first sight.
Her hair was close cut, its raven black color a stark contrast to the white world which framed it. Her cheeks and nose had a splash of red from the cold. Fuzzy earmuffs, slightly oversized on her head, enveloped her ears. The cold steam of her breath escaped in short bursts from thin, pursed lips. She turned toward me a bit, wrapping her puffy red coat snugly around her body and drawing her arms over her chest for warmth. Skinny black jeans, the kind that showed off just enough of her curves, ran down into pristine white boots, the soles of which were almost obscured by the thin layer of snow on the ground.
In short, she was perfect.
Before I realized what I was doing, I hid my hands in my coat pockets self-consciously. I cursed myself for not having the foresight to wear gloves. Most of mine show up on my hands, and seeing all of them up front tends to give people the wrong first impression. See, the Scars have something of a twisted sense of humor. You tell a lie about some action you've taken, you get a scar on your arms or hands; tell a lie about somewhere you've been, you get a scar on your legs or feet; tell a lie about what you think, you get a scar somewhere on your head. Medical experts have been studying the scars for as far back as anyone can remember, but the best science can tell us is that they just... happen. For all science knows, the world could be home to legions of overly vigilant, painfully ironic fairies wielding pocket knives.
Gathering my courage, I unzipped my coat and started walking in her direction. I nearly stopped myself and turned away a couple of times, but I'd promised myself long ago to always be truthful to my feelings. Nonetheless, I stalled awkwardly when I came close. Her green eyes watching me, the smell of her perfume drifting over to me, the cold wind blowing against my shirt...
I took a deep breath. I probably looked like an idiot. But, now was not the time to panic. I laid my heart out on the line, in more ways than one. I told her she was one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen, and that if she would allow me the opportunity, I wanted to take her somewhere special. That might seem a bit direct, but it helps your case a lot when a girl can simply watch your chest to see if your feelings are genuine. Sure enough, no bloodstain appeared. She looked down at the snowy ground, her cheeks growing even more red in the cold weather.
"Alright," she said, her lips teasing into a slight smile. "What did you have in mind?"
Good question. What did I have in mind?
We ended up in a nearby restaurant, though I can't for the life of me remember how. I got really lucky is probably the best answer. As we took our seats in the booth, she took off her outer jacket, revealing a white sweater underneath. I didn't think anything of it at first.
Slowly, as if unsure of herself, she unzipped the sweater too and pulled it down her arms, not fully off but not quite on either. Beneath it, she was wearing a rather tight shirt which revealed her slender arms and the fair skin of her midriff. I was caught completely off-guard by her drastic change of apparel. She shivered a bit and rubber her shoulders.
I sat there speechless, transfixed by her beauty. Her skin was so... perfect. Not a single scar marred her arms, her stomach, her neck, or anything. I realized I must have been staring, and turned a way just a bit too quickly.
"It's okay," she said softly, pulling her coat back on. "I wanted you to see that, since... I mean, you were so up front with me and... but not in a bad way, and... I guess I could've just told you outright..." She stared at the table a bit too pointedly.
I smiled to myself. At least I wasn't the only one who was bad at this.
...
That was three years ago, back when life was so much simpler. Back before the diagnosis, before the painful treatments which dragged on into weeks and then months. Before we learned about the cancer that was eating away, slowly but surely, at her brain.
The doctors told us nothing could be done. They could treat her, give her drugs to ease the suffering and ultimately the transition, but she was never going to get better. They said she would be... gone... within a few months. I stared at them like a hawk as they spoke, scrutinizing every inch of skin as I processed each sentence, but no Scars came. It was the truth.
We were both left to ask why it had to be her.
She grew irritable and lashed out, though I could hardly blame her. They said it was pressing on her brain, altering her mood and her thoughts. I'm not ashamed to admit that I bawled my eyes out when I first heard the news. But I had to be strong, I had to keep going. I had to be a rock, no matter how hard that would be.
As her time in the hospital grew, so did the doses they gave her. On one of her worse nights, I sat there with her as she tried to process all the built up frustration. I could see in her eyes that she didn't fully recognize me, a look I would never grow used to.
With no other outlet, she turned it on me.
"Why did this have to happen?" she suddenly screamed at me, choking back a sob. Tears streamed down her cheeks. "I... I hate you!"
For a moment, neither of us said anything. We sat in near silence, interrupted only by the occasional sob. I watched her somberly, not daring to react. And that's when I saw it.
A large pool of blood soaked into her hospital gown, just above her heart. The only Scar she would ever have.
...
Thanks for reading!
-ShutainzuGeito | I couldn't bring myself to ask Jack what it was for. He was such a nice guy, obviously, and he always had a kind word or a smile. Always ready to lend a hand, that kind of guy. Despite having just mopped the racquetball court with me, he was nothing if not a gracious winner. It just felt rude to ask, and even worse to stare, especially here in the locker room.
"You're curious, I know," he said with a grin tinged with sadness. He pulled his fresh polo onto his shoulders and over his torso. I looked down. I'd been caught. "It's understandable. It's pretty bad, yeah?"
"Worst I've seen, man."
He sighed. "You want to know what I did? What I said?"
"If you want to tell me."
Jack's grin faded as he leaned close. "I do." | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | "Anything else?" the waitress asked me, as she smacked a cup of coffee on the table somewhat carelessly. I think her name was Darla. I shook my head a bit and watched her saunter back to the counter out of the corner of my eye. I knew she had judged me from the moment she saw me. She had given me the same look most everyone else does. It's funny how someone marked and nicked with little white scars on her hands and arms and neck and legs can look down on me for having more of them. To be fair to - whatever her name was... - Darla- ...to be fair to Darla, and to everyone else, I do have lots and lots of little scars. I looked out to the window to my right at a lamp post that illuminated the darkened streets. This was as asleep as the city gets at night.
I started my scar collection as a kid. My mother meant well and might've been a decent parent if she didn't spend her days swigging vodka. My dad was never in the picture. A military man, apparently, who had to move to a base in Europe before I was born, although looking back I'm sure that wasn't true. My mother, now she had a lot of scars. A scar for every time she was going to quit drinking and "do right by me."
The first scar I remember scratching its way onto my skin was when I was probably four or five. My teacher had asked me if I was going to be ok. My mother hadn't come to pick me up which was a semi-frequent event, and I had gotten up to walk home - I lived a 20-minute walk or so away from the school so it wasn't a problem for me. He asked me if I was going to have dinner at home, and I lied. I told him we were having company over and my mom probably just lost track of time cooking this big meal for us all. I don't even know why I lied about it because it was a pointless lie, but I felt the sting on the back of my shoulder as the words left my lips.
Over the years the lies I told people, the lies I told my mother created a tapestry of scar tissue across my body. Sometimes I just wanted to get away from the house and I'd tell her I was staying with a friend. The marks were inconsequential to me.
I'm a journalist now - a failed one - there's no use lying to you. It's funny really because none of my scars ever came from anything I've ever written. I'm stupid; I use my lies on bullshit, instead of making money.
I looked down at my coffee and heard Darla telling a couple large patrons at the counter that she was planning on going back to school soon. I wondered if she got a scar for that or if she really meant it. It didn't really matter to me. I'm not interested in the lies people tell others. That's easy. It's recorded in the history of your body like the rings of a tree and even though they fade over time, more will always take their place - we can't help ourselves. No, what interests me are the lies people tell themselves. When people put makeup over their scars to cover up as many as they can, do they look into the mirror and pretend they are honest?
A bell rang as the door opened. I glanced to my left and saw a young man walk in. And I froze.
"Go ahead and sit where you'd like," Darla yelled out cheerily. "I'll be with you in just a sec."
The newcomer walked towards a back booth, and my eyes stayed fixed on him the entire time. His skin was unmarred by any scar or blemish. I had looked over his face and neck and forearms, and not a mark there was on them. Bullshit. Everyone lies. That is the only consistent truth I have ever known, and I've known that as far back as my memory extends. Everyone is a liar - that is a universal truth. It's the universal truth. I found myself rising out of my seat. My feet carried me towards the man in the back, quickening with each step. My heart pounded.
"Let me see your arms," I managed to squeeze out as I gripped his arm and turned it. My voice was nervous. I quickly jumped to the other arms and hurriedly looked it over. I rubbed his arm spastically to remove any makeup - but there was nothing. I looked up at his face. His eyes were those of a deer's caught in a headlight. What I was doing was crazy, I knew that. I had grabbed a random stranger but he couldn't be this honest. It wasn't possible.
"Where are your scars?" I demanded. He was still taken aback. "Where are they?" I repeated a little more forcefully.
"I- what scars?" he stammered out.
I felt a surge of anger rise up in me.
"Where are your fucking scars!" I yelled at the man and grabbed his shirt at his shoulders. His shocked silence only made me angrier. In an instant, I whipped his shirt up and dumbfoundedly stepped back. The entire front of his torso was one giant mass of scarred flesh.
"How are they all there?" I breathed out. "That can't be from one lie..."
He looked hurt.
"There was an accident," he said dejectedly.
"Bullshit!" I shot back. That was a lie everyone with an exceptional scar tried to get away with. That it wasn't from a lie, but some physical injury instead. I'd heard that one before. Sometimes a new mark was worth keeping the truth in the dark. But there was no new mark. I scanned over his body.
"How did that happen?"
"It was an accident!" he retorted, anger now growing in his voice. "There was a fire in my building! People died...and I was lucky enough to only be left with this at the end of the night."
I looked over his body and watched as no new scars carved their way in. He threw his shirt back down and was clearly angry now. I stepped backward. The diner was silent. I could feel everyone's eyes on me. The man I accosted threw some money on the table and slid out of his booth. He moved passed me and I watched as the only honest man I had ever known walked out of the door. I was brought crashing back down to reality. I glanced towards the counter and saw the two patrons and the waitress staring at me. I walked back to my table and left some money there before walking out the door. I made it a few steps down the sidewalk before my legs went weak. I sat down on the curb and cried.
It was only six months later when I saw the man's face again. This time on the news. His name was Robert Lewis, and he had been arrested for arson. He had set a fire in his apartment building that apparently grew out of control and wound up killing six people and sending dozens more to the hospital. He had been found there lying in the smoke by first responders. But here's the kicker. He hadn't suffered any burns when they found him. That scar only appeared after he had been questioned about the fire by a couple other firefighters before the cops even spoke to him. It took them a couple weeks to realize what happened and then months to find the guy.
Everyone is a liar. He was just better at telling half truths.
Edit: Grammatical | I couldn't bring myself to ask Jack what it was for. He was such a nice guy, obviously, and he always had a kind word or a smile. Always ready to lend a hand, that kind of guy. Despite having just mopped the racquetball court with me, he was nothing if not a gracious winner. It just felt rude to ask, and even worse to stare, especially here in the locker room.
"You're curious, I know," he said with a grin tinged with sadness. He pulled his fresh polo onto his shoulders and over his torso. I looked down. I'd been caught. "It's understandable. It's pretty bad, yeah?"
"Worst I've seen, man."
He sighed. "You want to know what I did? What I said?"
"If you want to tell me."
Jack's grin faded as he leaned close. "I do." | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | It's a mad world
Nowadays you are asked to take your clothes off in a job interview for god's sake, even in court in some countries, I mean come on sometimes you actually need to lie goddamnit sometimes it actually does some real good but it literally scars you for life...
I have my fair number of scars, mostly very light ones , I can take my shirt off when I go to the beach without most of them showing , heck I can have sex with a girl and they won't notice most, the more necessary you felt that the lie was the better hidden the scar is, so most of mine are in addition to very light on ... convenient spots. I have scars on the back of my thighs, I have two behind my ears, I have some on my armpits . I once heard of a guy who had one on his penis , it turns out how you feel about the lie makes a huge difference in what scar it will leave you and where, just imagine that guy getting undressed in front of a woman , or man whatever he is into anyway. Well at least some girls say scars are sexy, or so I’ve heard.
You do get used to it but still... I once had a pretty long conversation with a war veteran about scars , now that was scarring. He took he shirt off to show me his body he was FULL. I first noticed two bullets scars , didn't think I could recognize them but damn do they look different. The bullet scars though , they were nice compared to the rest , they were in battle defending his country but the rest of his body was more scar tissue than actual skin, there were spots where I couldn't even make out how many scars he had. They formed one big pile of butchered up skin. During our conversation I found out that he actually got all the visible scars he had on his upper body in a single week , he was taken as a prisoner of war and trust me , the only countries that actually give even a single flying fuck about the Geneva convention are the ones that have already won the war. Long story short , pretty much all the scars were from the lies he told trying to lead the enemies away while they were torturing him instead of giving them real information , it's mad how they can torture you into treachery without leaving a scar on your body. It is true though , EVERYONE breaks given enough time.
The war veteran story is my go-to example on why we shouldn't judge people by their scars. There is a whole other story that I just can't get myself to tell. Too goddamn sad , well probably not so when you just hear it as a story but you were not there talking with him you did not see the sorrow and the chaos on his face.
His name was George. In my country he have to serve in the military , mandatory service . The military of course is purely defensive and the service is easier than professional militaries naturally. George was pretty much the nicest guy we all knew , he would never even lie. There had been a few occasions where others were mad at him because he would tell our officers about anything they asked and being the military there were consequences , he really , actually never lied. We also noticed after a couple of months that even though most would get out of bath completely naked since we were only men, he would get in and out always wearing a t-shirt, and whenever he had to change his t-shirt without taking a bath he hid, went to the bathroom or was alone someway. We all wondered but we thought that he just lied without us noticing and wanted to hide his scars , all the others still believe that but I know.
George and I became friends over time. We would go out for a drink , we would even go to the gym or for a run together sometimes. The park where we run was closer to his home so one day when it started raining he told me to come take a shower at his place, he'd lend me some clothes and drive me home. He let me get in to take a shower first. I got in finished my shower and got out, he went in right after me. Seconds after he got in I realized a left my shoes in the bathroom and I sweat a lot so my shoes get smelly so I wanted to get them to the balcony. Being used to it from my service, who we had both finished some months prior to that day, where we didn't really care if someone saw us naked I just opened the door and went in without knocking. God I wish I hadn't.
I saw George's back as he was getting in the shower, he just froze as he saw the awe in my face when I stared at his single scar, one single scar in the entirety of his body , it was a huge scar spanning diagonally on his whole back , it was so large it reminded me of video game characters , and so deep I thought it was see-through where the skin met the spine. I just looked at him and he knew, he got a look that was stuck in his face for the rest of the week and just said "Let me finish my shower and I'll explain".
And so he finished , and so he explained , and so I was moved , then I processed what he said and I was devastated , and then I thought about it once more and I started to cry , then he let go and started to cry even more than I did.
It was one of the saddest stories I had ever heard. Until you are 13-16 depending on the person you get no scars from lying, I mean come on who doesn’t lie as a kid. One day you wake up with an already fainted scar across your whole face which goes away in a day or two and that is how you know you now get scars from lying. So George was relatively lucky as he got his initiation scar a couple of weeks after he became sixteen.
When George was 14 his mother got cancer. His 3 years younger sister got cancer too a year later, while his father had died in an accident when George was 9. His mother was given a 60% chance of getting rid of the cancer for good at the beginning with chemotherapy. She didn’t. A month after she learned that her cancer got too spread to be completely stopped, her daughter got cancer too. George said the doctor believed that his mother must have been exposed to radiation when pregnant with his sister else it was just a very tragic coincidence that they both got cancer in such a small time interval with his sister at such a young age.
George’s mother stopped chemotherapy just before he became 15 since the doctor said it wouldn’t help anymore. His sister was never given much chance, a mere 10% that chemotherapy would even do anything.
His mother couldn’t get out of bed just before George turned 16. At the same time the doctor told his sister that chemotherapy couldn’t do anything anymore and that she was giving her about another year and 6 to 8 months in a “good enough” health.
Naturally George and his sister wanted their mother to die knowing her daughter at least would survive. So they thought they’d lie to her, tell her that her daughter was getting better. George learned how to do makeup and helped his sister so she would seem in good health no matter what happened. They told their mum that even though she had gotten past cancer she started paying attention to the details of life and that she wanted to start putting on make up to look better and her being 13 at the time her mother believed her.
And so George kept lying, with a lie that started a few weeks after he got his first scar, he kept saying the same lie to his mother everyday. His mother got worse and so did his sister. His mother died 6 months after George got 16 years old, his sister one month after that, the doctor predicted wrong. The last two months that their mother was alive his sister couldn’t get out of bed and so every day he lied to his mother that his sister had to study , or that she didn’t get a very good grade on a test and didn’t want to disappoint her , or that she went out with friends whenever his mother asked why his sister didn't visit much. On the days his sister was feeling better she put on make-up, gathered all her strength and walked enough to go sit beside her mother’s bed. And so George kept lying so that his mother would die happy, every day for hours each day he lied to his dying mother that his dying sister was well, a few weeks before the end he told her that his sister had gotten fully rid of her tumor while his sister would faint trying to get up and see her mother. And George kept lying even the last few days when his mother could hardly see or talk and asked to see her daughter, so George said that she went abroad in a school program for students good in literature related subjects and she called him to relay her love for her mother to her, while she was in the hospital 20 meters away on the same floor, hanging on to life by a thread. Then his mother died and he couldn’t lie anymore, his sister died and he could hardly feel like he could live anymore.
All that left him with one big scar, the same lie being told over and over and over again devastating him even more each time, killing him inside and out a bit more each time creating a scar that would never heal. Creating a scar that was bigger than anyone I and maybe anyone else living on this godforsaken planet has ever seen. Creating a scar that made every other evil, obstacle or problem seem redundant, turning George into the best person I had ever known, into the best person anyone that met him had ever known.
It’s a mad world , and it’s mad to judge people by their scars , some carry them with sorrow , some with pride , some with regret some with happiness , some only need one , some have none , some can’t seem to get enough.
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This is my first ever prompt , pretty much the first story i've ever written to be honest ( outside of school of course). Feedback is appreciated
Also sorry if it got too sad too fast in the end I was listening to Tears in Heaven by Eric Clapton when I started writing , a very sad song who I only found out about yesterday, worth a listen.
Edit: So I'm done with changes to the story , may edit in the future if I find any spelling or grammar mistakes | I couldn't bring myself to ask Jack what it was for. He was such a nice guy, obviously, and he always had a kind word or a smile. Always ready to lend a hand, that kind of guy. Despite having just mopped the racquetball court with me, he was nothing if not a gracious winner. It just felt rude to ask, and even worse to stare, especially here in the locker room.
"You're curious, I know," he said with a grin tinged with sadness. He pulled his fresh polo onto his shoulders and over his torso. I looked down. I'd been caught. "It's understandable. It's pretty bad, yeah?"
"Worst I've seen, man."
He sighed. "You want to know what I did? What I said?"
"If you want to tell me."
Jack's grin faded as he leaned close. "I do." | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | My deepest cut? Easy. Upper right hip, curving from almost my navel to my asscrack. It's an unusual, but fortunately concealed, spot for me; usually I'm an arm guy, so my parents always dressed me in tshirts, for conveniences sake when asking if I'd done my homework. You'd think they'd have figured it out, after I was held back a grade...
But this chick. Now, I'm a man who knows what I like. Short, curly hair, sundresses, enough scars to show a wild side, few enough scars that I know I won't get a 'git-scar. Happened to one of my buddies once; after his girlfriend found out his "I'm not cheating on you" mark was hidden under his beard, she cut more than hair in taking it off. I told him dating a girl with skin textured like prairie grass was bad news, but he just couldn't resist the crazies. Birds of a feather, I suppose...
But back to this girl. She had it all. The dress. The hair. The... scar. Some chicks hide them, some showcase them. She was a shower, and damn, did she have a lot to show. The dress had to be custom tailored, for it framed and flattered the deep colors of the scar along her back perfectly. But other than that... flawless. Already I longed to stroke her smooth arms, kiss her milky neck, lift up her already short dress...
I approached, and distracted by the juxtaposition of beauty and destruction, went with the lamest, most common of openings. I gestured towards her. "That's quite the display. Is it 'git?"
Her laughter, as expected, sounded like the tinkling of bells. "But of course it's legit!" she said. "It was a tragic accident..." she looked solemn, for a moment, as if getting lost in a painful memory, but then her smile, refreshing as a spring shower, returned. "Though of course, that might not be the case. After all, I only ever speak in lies." | I couldn't bring myself to ask Jack what it was for. He was such a nice guy, obviously, and he always had a kind word or a smile. Always ready to lend a hand, that kind of guy. Despite having just mopped the racquetball court with me, he was nothing if not a gracious winner. It just felt rude to ask, and even worse to stare, especially here in the locker room.
"You're curious, I know," he said with a grin tinged with sadness. He pulled his fresh polo onto his shoulders and over his torso. I looked down. I'd been caught. "It's understandable. It's pretty bad, yeah?"
"Worst I've seen, man."
He sighed. "You want to know what I did? What I said?"
"If you want to tell me."
Jack's grin faded as he leaned close. "I do." | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | You want to know how I got these scars?
Well, for one thing they aren’t ‘scars’, if you look closely you’ll see it’s one continuous scar that travels around my face, neck, down my body, all around wrapping itself around my arms, legs, fingers and toes.
The only part of my body that isn’t scarred tissue is the inside of my body and even a bit of my mouth is still scarred.
So the correct question you want to ask is how did I get this scar?
Singular.
Well, you know that old saying? About how a girl likes a guy with scars? It shows they’re a bad boy, that they kick a lot of ass or in my case lie.
I didn’t kick anyone’s ass or get into a big crash, I lied.
That’s pretty much what happened.
I suppose you’ll want specifics.
Well, years ago back when I was unblemished, face filled with pimples and a voice that didn’t quite want to go low I had a crush on a girl.
A pretty girl, one that seemed to really like me with not a scar on her body as far as I could tell! So when she told me she loved me I believed her totally and without reservation.
We went out, kissed and eventually I did find she had scars. I won’t share the details of how I found out but I’m sure your imagination can fill in the blanks. Anyways, her scars, they were here and there. Small ones mostly with two or three medium sized ones. I asked her about them and she told me she didn’t want to talk about them. She seemed ashamed.
I wanted to tell her that she was human, that everyone had scars.
Then she looked at me and asked if I had any?
Well, I didn’t but I didn’t want her to feel bad so I said yes.
Next thing I knew I felt something scratch my arm and there it was. A scar.
Now that should’ve been the end of that but here’s the weird thing. It then sorta vanished. Then came back twice as bad as it realized I was sorta telling the truth but lying at the same time.
It couldn’t decide what to do.
So it just kept going.
So here I was with my girlfriend in front of me with my eyes wide in horror as the scar kept scratching me, fading and growing again. By the time it all stopped I was still screaming. Honestly I had no idea when I started.
And now we’re married.
| I couldn't bring myself to ask Jack what it was for. He was such a nice guy, obviously, and he always had a kind word or a smile. Always ready to lend a hand, that kind of guy. Despite having just mopped the racquetball court with me, he was nothing if not a gracious winner. It just felt rude to ask, and even worse to stare, especially here in the locker room.
"You're curious, I know," he said with a grin tinged with sadness. He pulled his fresh polo onto his shoulders and over his torso. I looked down. I'd been caught. "It's understandable. It's pretty bad, yeah?"
"Worst I've seen, man."
He sighed. "You want to know what I did? What I said?"
"If you want to tell me."
Jack's grin faded as he leaned close. "I do." | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | The subway rattled it's syncopated song, barumm...bum, bum...barumm...bum, bum...barumm...bum, bum. About twenty lonely people swayed back and forth in harmony within the car. There are usually a few homeless people at this hour. One typically sat in the far back corner, asleep.
But tonight there was just a guy with puffy eyes in a white tee shirt with sleeves that came to around the middle of his bicep. He was thin, but not sickeningly so, moderately handsome, and utterly defeated judging by his posture. His most striking feature of all was a newly formed slash down his forearm. The largest I've ever seen, by far. Still wet, they would say. His second most striking feature was the absence of any other scars.
Now usually, you get at least a few scars growing up. It's kind of like touching a burner as a kid. You just have to learn from experience. You might tell a fib at school about homework, and pets that have suddenly acquired an appetite for homework, and you collect a few scars along the way. I sure as hell did at least.
But this guy had to have made it all the way here, in New York City of all places, without telling a single lie. Well, until today. I was intrigued. I mean, how could you not be? He was Mother-freaking-Teresa, but even she probably failed to disclose the secret location of her breadbasket base every now and then. "Dantooine...they're all on Dantooine," she might have said.
I approached, with caution. I recognize this was selfish of me, but maybe the guy needed someone to talk to.
"Hey, man. You doing ok?" I said, conveying empathy the best my socially awkward self could manage.
"Yeah," the kid, who I just realized was only about 26, if that, said with such brevity that he may as well said nothing at all.
"Look, I don't usually intrude on people's private affairs. It's just, usually a homeless guy who goes by Squirrel sits where you are now and I don't think the strongest constitution in the bowel department, if you get my meaning."
The kid smiled at least, wiping his right eye with his scarless forearm, and moved to the bench seat next to where I was standing. "I'm John," he said.
"Hi John, it's a pleasure. I'm Matt." I sat down next to him. "Maybe if you tell me about your day, you will be distracted enough to forget it."
"I guess we aren't really going anywhere, are we." The doors to the subway car opened to dump out about half its contents. Those left in the car were otherwise enthralled in their phones or their headphones. "How many more stops do you have?"
"Twelve."
"Me too." He looked around the car, as the doors closed and the car lurched forward with the same barumm...bum, bum...barumm...bum, bum. I guess he adjudged the car private enough, so he began his story.
It all started with a girl. Imagine that. "Ah, to be young again," I thought. Brown hair, decent looks, and smart, he said. He had dated her for four years. They had graduated college together, fallen in love, and moved in to a too-small-but-hey-we-are-achieving-our-dreams-and-living-in-the-big-city-oh-look-a-dead-rat-its-nothing-we-will-get-used-to-it apartment. They even got one of those stupid plant holders that hang out of window sills. You know the ones that kill about eight people a year in a city like the Big Apple.
John had been the perfect boyfriend to Sally. He got her cute gifts that were within his budget, but not too within his budget, and he was nice to all of her friends. He even took her to a Giants game or two. Hell, he even ended up on the big screen for a kiss that ended up being televised on WFAN because of the quirky way he tossed the popcorn aside and did one of those "back from the war" kisses.
They even got engaged.
But last year, Sally was diagnosed with a cognitive disorder that changed her behavior. Sally was never the same again. She had flashes of anger, where she would insult John and his family. She would talk of other guys she had been with in the past, when she never did that before. She would even compare John to other guys that they had been around, telling him why they were better than him. This went on for a year.
She demeaned him to the point of no return, yet he remained there with her. John kept her medication in order and cooked for her, because processes were lost at that point. After Sally lost control of her colon he cleaned their Murphy Bed in their too-small-but-hey-we-are-achieving-our-dreams-and-living-in-the-big-city-oh-look-a-dead-rat-its-nothing-we-will-get-used-to-it apartment. He sat with her in the hospital for two weeks and lost his accounting job due to it. He was there today when she died.
Sally had looked up at him within her last hour and said she remembered the day they watched a dog in Central Park on a long leash literally wrap its owner up "101 Dalmatians" style and drag him a few yards. They laughed aloud, heads back like Peanuts characters, like they had many times before Sally became ill. She looked up at John, with tears welling in her eyes. For a brief moment, the old Sally was there.
"I love you," she said.
"I love you, too," he replied. | I couldn't bring myself to ask Jack what it was for. He was such a nice guy, obviously, and he always had a kind word or a smile. Always ready to lend a hand, that kind of guy. Despite having just mopped the racquetball court with me, he was nothing if not a gracious winner. It just felt rude to ask, and even worse to stare, especially here in the locker room.
"You're curious, I know," he said with a grin tinged with sadness. He pulled his fresh polo onto his shoulders and over his torso. I looked down. I'd been caught. "It's understandable. It's pretty bad, yeah?"
"Worst I've seen, man."
He sighed. "You want to know what I did? What I said?"
"If you want to tell me."
Jack's grin faded as he leaned close. "I do." | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | It's a mad world
Nowadays you are asked to take your clothes off in a job interview for god's sake, even in court in some countries, I mean come on sometimes you actually need to lie goddamnit sometimes it actually does some real good but it literally scars you for life...
I have my fair number of scars, mostly very light ones , I can take my shirt off when I go to the beach without most of them showing , heck I can have sex with a girl and they won't notice most, the more necessary you felt that the lie was the better hidden the scar is, so most of mine are in addition to very light on ... convenient spots. I have scars on the back of my thighs, I have two behind my ears, I have some on my armpits . I once heard of a guy who had one on his penis , it turns out how you feel about the lie makes a huge difference in what scar it will leave you and where, just imagine that guy getting undressed in front of a woman , or man whatever he is into anyway. Well at least some girls say scars are sexy, or so I’ve heard.
You do get used to it but still... I once had a pretty long conversation with a war veteran about scars , now that was scarring. He took he shirt off to show me his body he was FULL. I first noticed two bullets scars , didn't think I could recognize them but damn do they look different. The bullet scars though , they were nice compared to the rest , they were in battle defending his country but the rest of his body was more scar tissue than actual skin, there were spots where I couldn't even make out how many scars he had. They formed one big pile of butchered up skin. During our conversation I found out that he actually got all the visible scars he had on his upper body in a single week , he was taken as a prisoner of war and trust me , the only countries that actually give even a single flying fuck about the Geneva convention are the ones that have already won the war. Long story short , pretty much all the scars were from the lies he told trying to lead the enemies away while they were torturing him instead of giving them real information , it's mad how they can torture you into treachery without leaving a scar on your body. It is true though , EVERYONE breaks given enough time.
The war veteran story is my go-to example on why we shouldn't judge people by their scars. There is a whole other story that I just can't get myself to tell. Too goddamn sad , well probably not so when you just hear it as a story but you were not there talking with him you did not see the sorrow and the chaos on his face.
His name was George. In my country he have to serve in the military , mandatory service . The military of course is purely defensive and the service is easier than professional militaries naturally. George was pretty much the nicest guy we all knew , he would never even lie. There had been a few occasions where others were mad at him because he would tell our officers about anything they asked and being the military there were consequences , he really , actually never lied. We also noticed after a couple of months that even though most would get out of bath completely naked since we were only men, he would get in and out always wearing a t-shirt, and whenever he had to change his t-shirt without taking a bath he hid, went to the bathroom or was alone someway. We all wondered but we thought that he just lied without us noticing and wanted to hide his scars , all the others still believe that but I know.
George and I became friends over time. We would go out for a drink , we would even go to the gym or for a run together sometimes. The park where we run was closer to his home so one day when it started raining he told me to come take a shower at his place, he'd lend me some clothes and drive me home. He let me get in to take a shower first. I got in finished my shower and got out, he went in right after me. Seconds after he got in I realized a left my shoes in the bathroom and I sweat a lot so my shoes get smelly so I wanted to get them to the balcony. Being used to it from my service, who we had both finished some months prior to that day, where we didn't really care if someone saw us naked I just opened the door and went in without knocking. God I wish I hadn't.
I saw George's back as he was getting in the shower, he just froze as he saw the awe in my face when I stared at his single scar, one single scar in the entirety of his body , it was a huge scar spanning diagonally on his whole back , it was so large it reminded me of video game characters , and so deep I thought it was see-through where the skin met the spine. I just looked at him and he knew, he got a look that was stuck in his face for the rest of the week and just said "Let me finish my shower and I'll explain".
And so he finished , and so he explained , and so I was moved , then I processed what he said and I was devastated , and then I thought about it once more and I started to cry , then he let go and started to cry even more than I did.
It was one of the saddest stories I had ever heard. Until you are 13-16 depending on the person you get no scars from lying, I mean come on who doesn’t lie as a kid. One day you wake up with an already fainted scar across your whole face which goes away in a day or two and that is how you know you now get scars from lying. So George was relatively lucky as he got his initiation scar a couple of weeks after he became sixteen.
When George was 14 his mother got cancer. His 3 years younger sister got cancer too a year later, while his father had died in an accident when George was 9. His mother was given a 60% chance of getting rid of the cancer for good at the beginning with chemotherapy. She didn’t. A month after she learned that her cancer got too spread to be completely stopped, her daughter got cancer too. George said the doctor believed that his mother must have been exposed to radiation when pregnant with his sister else it was just a very tragic coincidence that they both got cancer in such a small time interval with his sister at such a young age.
George’s mother stopped chemotherapy just before he became 15 since the doctor said it wouldn’t help anymore. His sister was never given much chance, a mere 10% that chemotherapy would even do anything.
His mother couldn’t get out of bed just before George turned 16. At the same time the doctor told his sister that chemotherapy couldn’t do anything anymore and that she was giving her about another year and 6 to 8 months in a “good enough” health.
Naturally George and his sister wanted their mother to die knowing her daughter at least would survive. So they thought they’d lie to her, tell her that her daughter was getting better. George learned how to do makeup and helped his sister so she would seem in good health no matter what happened. They told their mum that even though she had gotten past cancer she started paying attention to the details of life and that she wanted to start putting on make up to look better and her being 13 at the time her mother believed her.
And so George kept lying, with a lie that started a few weeks after he got his first scar, he kept saying the same lie to his mother everyday. His mother got worse and so did his sister. His mother died 6 months after George got 16 years old, his sister one month after that, the doctor predicted wrong. The last two months that their mother was alive his sister couldn’t get out of bed and so every day he lied to his mother that his sister had to study , or that she didn’t get a very good grade on a test and didn’t want to disappoint her , or that she went out with friends whenever his mother asked why his sister didn't visit much. On the days his sister was feeling better she put on make-up, gathered all her strength and walked enough to go sit beside her mother’s bed. And so George kept lying so that his mother would die happy, every day for hours each day he lied to his dying mother that his dying sister was well, a few weeks before the end he told her that his sister had gotten fully rid of her tumor while his sister would faint trying to get up and see her mother. And George kept lying even the last few days when his mother could hardly see or talk and asked to see her daughter, so George said that she went abroad in a school program for students good in literature related subjects and she called him to relay her love for her mother to her, while she was in the hospital 20 meters away on the same floor, hanging on to life by a thread. Then his mother died and he couldn’t lie anymore, his sister died and he could hardly feel like he could live anymore.
All that left him with one big scar, the same lie being told over and over and over again devastating him even more each time, killing him inside and out a bit more each time creating a scar that would never heal. Creating a scar that was bigger than anyone I and maybe anyone else living on this godforsaken planet has ever seen. Creating a scar that made every other evil, obstacle or problem seem redundant, turning George into the best person I had ever known, into the best person anyone that met him had ever known.
It’s a mad world , and it’s mad to judge people by their scars , some carry them with sorrow , some with pride , some with regret some with happiness , some only need one , some have none , some can’t seem to get enough.
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This is my first ever prompt , pretty much the first story i've ever written to be honest ( outside of school of course). Feedback is appreciated
Also sorry if it got too sad too fast in the end I was listening to Tears in Heaven by Eric Clapton when I started writing , a very sad song who I only found out about yesterday, worth a listen.
Edit: So I'm done with changes to the story , may edit in the future if I find any spelling or grammar mistakes | I met Mark in a coffee shop. I couldn't say it was love at first sight, but he was a real head turner, everywhere he went one or two people did a double take. I've never been one for conventional beauty, but my God, his skin. He was in his late 30s, but he had the perfect skin of a newborn child. He didn't have the scratches everyone else our age did. I had never seen a man like him, maybe a few models on billboards, but we all know they take a decently honest man and photoshop him into a saint.
I was intimidated, but just a second after I spoke to him, he interrupted me. He told me he thought I was beautiful, and I knew a man like this couldn't throw that out to every woman he meets. From then on it was like a dream, he was just perfect.
Yet, everywhere we went, I could feel the looming questions. All of them as they turned their heads away, trying to pretend they weren't staring, all thinking "Why her?", "How can someone like him trust someone like her?", or "Relationships like theirs never work". I know because I had thought the same things about similar couples, and never had the difference been so stark.
At first, I laid my makeup on thicker and thicker, every time we went out I felt like I wore a mask. He noticed this, and reassured me it didn't matter what everyone else thought, Mark told me "Mary, this is about us, not them. I trust you. I know your an even better person than I am, a few lies don't make you any less of a person". In time I relaxed my makeup, I even wore less than most people.
I had always been rather conservative, but with him, I was hesitant to get physical for an entirely different reason. I know he said he didn't care about my scars, and I know he believed that, but I feared what he would think when he saw me laid bare, saw the scars that blanketed me. Mostly the little scratches that everyone has, but I had a few nasty ones. I had a 5 inch one across my stomach, that I desperately didn't want him to see, he'd ask me to explain it!
I got it in highschool, a friend I'd had since childhood had mugged a woman, things went wrong and he stabbed her. He ran back to our apartment building and told me the whole thing, how he left her there in the alley, in her own blood. I had known him since we were both four, I couldn't let him go to prison. When the police questioned me, I covered for him, I told them he had spent the whole night with me. When I heard the woman died, my scar ached, it grew longer. He left town not long after that, and I didn't keep in touch, I couldn't handle it. Before he left, I did see his scar. It was awful, it went the whole length of his forearm, not something you saw often, only on the news or on TV.
The idea of Mark seeing me nude terrified me, I told him so. I even asked him if we could do it in the dark, at least the first time. Maybe if he felt my skin before he saw it, then it wouldn't shock him so much. He was silent. He told me not to worry, he told me his skin wasnt perfect. He had a scar too. A scar.
It was supposed to make me feel better, but it only multiplied my self consciousness. Only one scar? That just wasn't possible. He reassured me, he told me no matter how many scars I had, that he wouldn't ask questions, that he would still love me.
I cried there in his arms. I knew he was telling the truth. I don't know how long it was, but with time and his comfort, I calmed down. We moved to the bed, him talking off my shirt. He wasn't fazed at all, by all the blemishes, by the lies of all my 34 years on this earth, more than most.
Then he removed his shirt.
It was terrible. I shouted at the sight of it. It ran from his right shoulder blade to the lower left side of his stomach. It was wide. It was deep. I was shaking, and I saw the hurt in his eyes.
"No, no" he said quickly. "I had a car crash" he said "three years ago".
A car crash? Yes! An injury! It had to be, he couldn't lie, he was the most honest man I had ever met, he never let a mistruth breach his lips. He had to be telling the truth now.
I embraced him. I hugged him tight. I never felt so relieved, I never felt so loved. I knew I had been completed, that I would spend the rest of my life with this man.
We kissed, long and deep. I ran my fingers through his hair and caressed his neck. There I felt it. A roughness. A single tiny scar, just behind his left ear. Had I just not noticed it before? We had only known each other four months, I had not felt every inch of his head. Maybe it was a single lie, from who knows when. Maybe it just another injury, a tiny nick from falling back and hitting his head. Maybe he didn't even know he had it.
We are getting married soon. I haven't asked him about his scar again. I wonder if maybe I should. Maybe I should measure that blemish behind his ear and see if it grows after I ask him.
| |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | I live in a world when you lie you get a scar. The bigger the scar, the worse the lie. I apparently was in an accident a year ago and now I can't remember things that well. So there I am at the store and I see this girl with one extremely large and deep looking scar. I figured I should go ask her what she said because it seems interesting there was only one lie. So I asked her and she said she used to be my wife. She couldn't look me in the eye and she said it was "I love you."
Edit: Yes I know someone else did something similar to this. Just saying before downvotes happen. | Oh! The long years lost lusting
The pitiless pit in my stomach - my soul
How completely the hunger consumes us
Devouring
Our fleshless flesh
Plunging deeper, downward, distant
From light, from life, from Her
tasteless, touching touch
Falling
freely - bound for darkest darkness.
Descent declines, rescinds, retracts
An arm, for me? A home.
Four walls, keep out? Trap in?
Retain.
One mouth from hole to whole.
A roaring hearth, some rakish rogues
Beneath a bar laid bare, lay bones
Come stay a while, wick wildest wiles
Feast
We share your final meal
For t'night are knaves, our knives
For you and yours are ours
We lick our lips from tips to tip
Taste
Mettle teeth on medal hearts
We beseech you don't besmirch
Come wallow, wonder, wine
Welcome to our howling home, and
Promise
**"we don't bite"** | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | "Mr. Graves, are you certain your client has been telling the truth?" The voice of the judge cut through the room. I glanced up from my papers, and stood up, taking off my gloves and scarf.
The jury panel gasped a little bit when they saw my unscarred face and hands. More than a few looked jealous, but most merely looked impressed. I nodded. Good. I had affixed myself as a person who told the truth in their mind.
My client, meanwhile, was a mass of scars. They marred his face, hands, neck, biceps. A few of them were deep and ugly. He was staring at his handcuffed hands, looking despondent.
I cleared my throat. "Yes, your honor. And I intend to prove not only to you, but to the men and women of the jury that the evidence the state has not does not prove my client's innocence, but that the evidence proves his innocence!"
The jury mumbled amongst themselves as I launched into my opening statement.
---
"Thank you, Mr. Graves," my client said, grinning in my office, wearing his ratty yet comfortable clothes once again. "I thought I'd be locked up for good, but you... you pulled off a miracle. "
I smiled a little, straightening my posture and linking my fingers on the desk. "It wasn't me, Mr. Williams. It was your testimony that made the most compelling argument."
Williams smiled, the scars on his face stretching and distorting.
"Mr. Graves, you're a godsend. I can never thank you enough. I'm going to go and try and pull my life together."
There. A small little slice, right by his ear. It wasn't much, and he didn't notice it, and I didn't stare. No one deserved to be caught, especially in the lies they tell themselves.
Mr. Williams thanked me profusely, continued to make that same promise that tore open that scar a little more each time, then left.
When he was gone, I once again stood in the mirror in my office. I unbuttoned my shirt, allowing myself a wince as I opened the shirt a bit further. Yep, it was still there. The one scar that I had from telling myself the lie. The biggest lie I had ever told, and it was the only reason I was still around.
I took a deep breath, looked myself dead in the mirror, and mouthed the lie to myself.
The pain lanced through me as the scar re-opened once again, starting at my collarbone, opening up through my stomach, curling around my belly button, and immediately soaking my pant leg with blood as it ended somewhere in my inner thigh.
The pain had been enough to knock me out the first time I had told that lie. My parents had rushed me to the hospital. Now, all I did was grunt, set my teeth, and reach for the suture kit on the counter in front of me.
That lie hurt, even more each time I said it. But I had to let myself know I was okay. Even if it was a lie. | Oh! The long years lost lusting
The pitiless pit in my stomach - my soul
How completely the hunger consumes us
Devouring
Our fleshless flesh
Plunging deeper, downward, distant
From light, from life, from Her
tasteless, touching touch
Falling
freely - bound for darkest darkness.
Descent declines, rescinds, retracts
An arm, for me? A home.
Four walls, keep out? Trap in?
Retain.
One mouth from hole to whole.
A roaring hearth, some rakish rogues
Beneath a bar laid bare, lay bones
Come stay a while, wick wildest wiles
Feast
We share your final meal
For t'night are knaves, our knives
For you and yours are ours
We lick our lips from tips to tip
Taste
Mettle teeth on medal hearts
We beseech you don't besmirch
Come wallow, wonder, wine
Welcome to our howling home, and
Promise
**"we don't bite"** | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | We lived side by side spending our days joined at the hips so much so people thought we were brothers. My skin was covered in them by the time I was 12 while he hadn’t got a single mark yet, I was slightly envious of his clear skin that impressed people for a boy his age. When I asked him how he did it, he simply shrugged and said anything was possible with a slight grin. His vague reply made me more jealous, sure I lied more than most kids my age but most of the lies were petty and insignificant that I didn’t think twice about. Plus, the marks I got didn’t hurt one bit so it just sorta added up after a while.
Then childhood ended and I moved away right before I started high-school. We didn’t really keep in contact with each other like how most kids promise but never do. It wasn’t any different with us, by the time my 20s came around he was just a hazy childhood friend I had all but forgotten about.
It was blistering hot that day, too hot to wear anything but short sleeves and pants. I hated wearing those types of clothes, while most people’s scars were skinny and faded into their skin. Mine had become more gashed and discolored as I grew older, I was one of the unlucky ones whose skin healed badly to these marks. Just genetics they told me.
I was walking back from the bus stop when I saw him in front of me, his clear pale skin devoid of any scars got my attention first before I saw his face. When I looked up at his face that’s when I recognized him, I called out his name and waved slightly at him. His face looked blank for a moment before lighting up in recognition as well. His pasty lips smiled at me and called me over, while we caught up all I could notice was how unblemished his arms and legs looked. Scars usually showed up first on your limbs before covering your whole body.
He must have noticed my gawking and laughed a bit before telling me to not trust your first impressions. I was confused by what he meant, but when I asked he just smiled a bit wider.
“Ben, I was actually kind of happy you were jealous of me when we were younger. In a way, I was just lucky they showed up in places where no one noticed.” He said to me, before turning his back and walking away before I could reply.
I noticed a painful red looking scar peeking out from the back of his neck and drops of red starting to stain his white shirt.
| Oh! The long years lost lusting
The pitiless pit in my stomach - my soul
How completely the hunger consumes us
Devouring
Our fleshless flesh
Plunging deeper, downward, distant
From light, from life, from Her
tasteless, touching touch
Falling
freely - bound for darkest darkness.
Descent declines, rescinds, retracts
An arm, for me? A home.
Four walls, keep out? Trap in?
Retain.
One mouth from hole to whole.
A roaring hearth, some rakish rogues
Beneath a bar laid bare, lay bones
Come stay a while, wick wildest wiles
Feast
We share your final meal
For t'night are knaves, our knives
For you and yours are ours
We lick our lips from tips to tip
Taste
Mettle teeth on medal hearts
We beseech you don't besmirch
Come wallow, wonder, wine
Welcome to our howling home, and
Promise
**"we don't bite"** | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | As I stood there, he looked at me with longing in his eyes. He had been living on this earth for longer than anyone I knew.
"Can you hear me?" I asked him.
"Yes, loud and clear."
"Have you ever lied in your life?"
"Only once. And it was the worst lie I've ever told anyone. The biggest, far bigger than any lie that you could think of."
"Hold on, you're telling me you've only ever lied once in your life? Not even little white lies like 'yeah that outfit looks fine'?"
"No. And it upsets me to remember that day." He gets a far away look in his eyes.
. . .
He's back in the White House.
"Mr. President, it has been carried out as you ordered."
"Good. Now leave and never talk about this."
. . .
"What do you know about 9/11?"
"Well, AL Qaeda attacked the twin towers by hijacking a few planes."
"Do you know if anyone inside the United States government, perhaps the President, was involved in planning or carrying out the attacks?"
"If you're asking whether 9/11 was an inside job, no, it was not."
Suddenly he fell out of his chair, his screams filling the room.
He ripped off his shirt as a massive scar finished appearing.
| Oh! The long years lost lusting
The pitiless pit in my stomach - my soul
How completely the hunger consumes us
Devouring
Our fleshless flesh
Plunging deeper, downward, distant
From light, from life, from Her
tasteless, touching touch
Falling
freely - bound for darkest darkness.
Descent declines, rescinds, retracts
An arm, for me? A home.
Four walls, keep out? Trap in?
Retain.
One mouth from hole to whole.
A roaring hearth, some rakish rogues
Beneath a bar laid bare, lay bones
Come stay a while, wick wildest wiles
Feast
We share your final meal
For t'night are knaves, our knives
For you and yours are ours
We lick our lips from tips to tip
Taste
Mettle teeth on medal hearts
We beseech you don't besmirch
Come wallow, wonder, wine
Welcome to our howling home, and
Promise
**"we don't bite"** | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | It was the election day again. In a world where each lie meant a scar you knew who was going to be trustful. I saw Tony Monzana again. The last time I saw him in person was the last election day. Our old prime minister was going for a second round.
He was about to start his political speech, he looked casual. He looked pretty clean for an average person, not many scars anywhere, brown hair and glasses. The usual.
Just before he got to start the speech his doctor ran to him and asked something about a skin surgery. Tony asked him back "What fucking skin surgery, I have never had a skin surgery".
He immeditially broke in half, which his doctors only replied to "*Sigh...* Politicians".
| Oh! The long years lost lusting
The pitiless pit in my stomach - my soul
How completely the hunger consumes us
Devouring
Our fleshless flesh
Plunging deeper, downward, distant
From light, from life, from Her
tasteless, touching touch
Falling
freely - bound for darkest darkness.
Descent declines, rescinds, retracts
An arm, for me? A home.
Four walls, keep out? Trap in?
Retain.
One mouth from hole to whole.
A roaring hearth, some rakish rogues
Beneath a bar laid bare, lay bones
Come stay a while, wick wildest wiles
Feast
We share your final meal
For t'night are knaves, our knives
For you and yours are ours
We lick our lips from tips to tip
Taste
Mettle teeth on medal hearts
We beseech you don't besmirch
Come wallow, wonder, wine
Welcome to our howling home, and
Promise
**"we don't bite"** | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | We met at a bar one evening. She had a beer in her hand, something local on tap, about half-drained. We struck up some conversation - weather or sports or some such, I don't remember, small talk though. She made some passing comment about liking my ears, and I almost brushed it off as false praise - I think they stick out a bit too much - before I noticed her smooth skin; not a single scar visible.
I had my own fair share of lies cut into my skin - most minor, a few major. Even the bigger ones I'd usually defend, outside of a big one on my arm. "I've been clean for a year!". Even so, that's the least regretful mistake from that part of my life - I'm proud to say I can say that line now without the scar growing larger.
I got her name - Jane - and later, her number. We ended up setting up a date for the following weekend, and hit it off quickly. Similar interests - hiking, video games, cooking... Well, mostly same interests, anyway. I remember her coy smile when I said I liked her Coltrane collection, and a line of skin on my forearm darkened. Can't stand jazz, really.
I thought for about a month that she was perfectly honest, until we went to bed together. Jane seemed reluctant to take off her shirt, but that same honesty that kept her skin smooth must have demanded she not cover up now - her bra came off, and across the inside of her left breast was the deepest scar that I've ever seen. It wasn't a discoloration like most scars - it was like a knotted rope was underneath the skin.
It wasn't the sort of thing you can comment on lightly, but at the same time, it would be more conspicuous to ignore it. She was clearly distressed, waiting for my reaction. I wasn't sure what to say, but we were both naked at that point so there was no hoping that a lie would be covered up by clothing.
"There's obviously a story here, and I'm curious, but... Right now, it's not important. I'm willing to wait until you're willing to tell me on your own terms" I said, and punctuated the sentence with a kiss. She ran a hand through my short hair, and the encounter continued naturally after that. But frankly the details are none of your business.
It was another six months before I learned any more details about that scar of hers. We were quite serious by now, and I'd had plenty of opportunities to see it again at this point.
Jane told me that her parents were going to be coming by for Thanksgiving, and that she wanted me to be there. Her face was strangely tense, and when I pressed for information, she just said that she didn't feel up for explaining. What could I say to that? So, I didn't press the issue, and waited for Thursday to roll around.
Her parents showed up - her mother was a frumpy sort of woman, with a flowery dress, and her father was tall, but had a thick neck and a double chin. I was surprised the two of them could have produced such a beautiful daughter, but all the same I could see some resemblance, particularly in the eyes and nose.
The first thing I heard her father say - before even "hello" - was right after he jerked a thumb in my direction. "Is this that friend of yours? She looks like a fucking dyke." Her mother agreed emphatically. I found myself dumbstruck, unable to respond. Jane laughed uncomfortably, but her father didn't seem to notice - he was sniffing the air.
"Turkey's already on, eh? Surprised you haven't caught yourself a husband yet, with your cooking. Hah!"
"No luck yet, but I'm sure I'll find one one of these days." Jane replied with a weak smile, clearly hiding a wince as the scar above her heart wrought its way deeper into her skin. | Oh! The long years lost lusting
The pitiless pit in my stomach - my soul
How completely the hunger consumes us
Devouring
Our fleshless flesh
Plunging deeper, downward, distant
From light, from life, from Her
tasteless, touching touch
Falling
freely - bound for darkest darkness.
Descent declines, rescinds, retracts
An arm, for me? A home.
Four walls, keep out? Trap in?
Retain.
One mouth from hole to whole.
A roaring hearth, some rakish rogues
Beneath a bar laid bare, lay bones
Come stay a while, wick wildest wiles
Feast
We share your final meal
For t'night are knaves, our knives
For you and yours are ours
We lick our lips from tips to tip
Taste
Mettle teeth on medal hearts
We beseech you don't besmirch
Come wallow, wonder, wine
Welcome to our howling home, and
Promise
**"we don't bite"** | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | "Hey, how'd you get that scar?"
"Told my parents that I brushed my teeth."
"You are such a liar! That's way too big for that!"
"Yea. I'm a liar, duh." | Oh! The long years lost lusting
The pitiless pit in my stomach - my soul
How completely the hunger consumes us
Devouring
Our fleshless flesh
Plunging deeper, downward, distant
From light, from life, from Her
tasteless, touching touch
Falling
freely - bound for darkest darkness.
Descent declines, rescinds, retracts
An arm, for me? A home.
Four walls, keep out? Trap in?
Retain.
One mouth from hole to whole.
A roaring hearth, some rakish rogues
Beneath a bar laid bare, lay bones
Come stay a while, wick wildest wiles
Feast
We share your final meal
For t'night are knaves, our knives
For you and yours are ours
We lick our lips from tips to tip
Taste
Mettle teeth on medal hearts
We beseech you don't besmirch
Come wallow, wonder, wine
Welcome to our howling home, and
Promise
**"we don't bite"** | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be.
What did they do?
What did they lie about?
In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people.
I knew lying was wrong, most of the time.
But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you.
You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time.
You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened: You lied.
It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder; Can I trust you?
Trust?
What was trust in this world?
The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne.
You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true.
But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer?
It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold.
You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be.
It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar.
We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away.
We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed.
We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear.
But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back.
The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder.
When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know.
Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off.
Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze.
"What do you want?" he asked.
And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar.
"Nothing". | Oh! The long years lost lusting
The pitiless pit in my stomach - my soul
How completely the hunger consumes us
Devouring
Our fleshless flesh
Plunging deeper, downward, distant
From light, from life, from Her
tasteless, touching touch
Falling
freely - bound for darkest darkness.
Descent declines, rescinds, retracts
An arm, for me? A home.
Four walls, keep out? Trap in?
Retain.
One mouth from hole to whole.
A roaring hearth, some rakish rogues
Beneath a bar laid bare, lay bones
Come stay a while, wick wildest wiles
Feast
We share your final meal
For t'night are knaves, our knives
For you and yours are ours
We lick our lips from tips to tip
Taste
Mettle teeth on medal hearts
We beseech you don't besmirch
Come wallow, wonder, wine
Welcome to our howling home, and
Promise
**"we don't bite"** | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | It was the middle of the January, one of the better times to lie if you had to. In the cold winter months, you could get away with hiding your secrets under an oversized, baggy sweater. There just enough snow in the air that to make the sky seem to sparkle, but it was nothing compared to the sparkle in her piercing green eyes when they first made contact with mine. I swear, it was love at first sight.
Her hair was close cut, its raven black color a stark contrast to the white world which framed it. Her cheeks and nose had a splash of red from the cold. Fuzzy earmuffs, slightly oversized on her head, enveloped her ears. The cold steam of her breath escaped in short bursts from thin, pursed lips. She turned toward me a bit, wrapping her puffy red coat snugly around her body and drawing her arms over her chest for warmth. Skinny black jeans, the kind that showed off just enough of her curves, ran down into pristine white boots, the soles of which were almost obscured by the thin layer of snow on the ground.
In short, she was perfect.
Before I realized what I was doing, I hid my hands in my coat pockets self-consciously. I cursed myself for not having the foresight to wear gloves. Most of mine show up on my hands, and seeing all of them up front tends to give people the wrong first impression. See, the Scars have something of a twisted sense of humor. You tell a lie about some action you've taken, you get a scar on your arms or hands; tell a lie about somewhere you've been, you get a scar on your legs or feet; tell a lie about what you think, you get a scar somewhere on your head. Medical experts have been studying the scars for as far back as anyone can remember, but the best science can tell us is that they just... happen. For all science knows, the world could be home to legions of overly vigilant, painfully ironic fairies wielding pocket knives.
Gathering my courage, I unzipped my coat and started walking in her direction. I nearly stopped myself and turned away a couple of times, but I'd promised myself long ago to always be truthful to my feelings. Nonetheless, I stalled awkwardly when I came close. Her green eyes watching me, the smell of her perfume drifting over to me, the cold wind blowing against my shirt...
I took a deep breath. I probably looked like an idiot. But, now was not the time to panic. I laid my heart out on the line, in more ways than one. I told her she was one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen, and that if she would allow me the opportunity, I wanted to take her somewhere special. That might seem a bit direct, but it helps your case a lot when a girl can simply watch your chest to see if your feelings are genuine. Sure enough, no bloodstain appeared. She looked down at the snowy ground, her cheeks growing even more red in the cold weather.
"Alright," she said, her lips teasing into a slight smile. "What did you have in mind?"
Good question. What did I have in mind?
We ended up in a nearby restaurant, though I can't for the life of me remember how. I got really lucky is probably the best answer. As we took our seats in the booth, she took off her outer jacket, revealing a white sweater underneath. I didn't think anything of it at first.
Slowly, as if unsure of herself, she unzipped the sweater too and pulled it down her arms, not fully off but not quite on either. Beneath it, she was wearing a rather tight shirt which revealed her slender arms and the fair skin of her midriff. I was caught completely off-guard by her drastic change of apparel. She shivered a bit and rubber her shoulders.
I sat there speechless, transfixed by her beauty. Her skin was so... perfect. Not a single scar marred her arms, her stomach, her neck, or anything. I realized I must have been staring, and turned a way just a bit too quickly.
"It's okay," she said softly, pulling her coat back on. "I wanted you to see that, since... I mean, you were so up front with me and... but not in a bad way, and... I guess I could've just told you outright..." She stared at the table a bit too pointedly.
I smiled to myself. At least I wasn't the only one who was bad at this.
...
That was three years ago, back when life was so much simpler. Back before the diagnosis, before the painful treatments which dragged on into weeks and then months. Before we learned about the cancer that was eating away, slowly but surely, at her brain.
The doctors told us nothing could be done. They could treat her, give her drugs to ease the suffering and ultimately the transition, but she was never going to get better. They said she would be... gone... within a few months. I stared at them like a hawk as they spoke, scrutinizing every inch of skin as I processed each sentence, but no Scars came. It was the truth.
We were both left to ask why it had to be her.
She grew irritable and lashed out, though I could hardly blame her. They said it was pressing on her brain, altering her mood and her thoughts. I'm not ashamed to admit that I bawled my eyes out when I first heard the news. But I had to be strong, I had to keep going. I had to be a rock, no matter how hard that would be.
As her time in the hospital grew, so did the doses they gave her. On one of her worse nights, I sat there with her as she tried to process all the built up frustration. I could see in her eyes that she didn't fully recognize me, a look I would never grow used to.
With no other outlet, she turned it on me.
"Why did this have to happen?" she suddenly screamed at me, choking back a sob. Tears streamed down her cheeks. "I... I hate you!"
For a moment, neither of us said anything. We sat in near silence, interrupted only by the occasional sob. I watched her somberly, not daring to react. And that's when I saw it.
A large pool of blood soaked into her hospital gown, just above her heart. The only Scar she would ever have.
...
Thanks for reading!
-ShutainzuGeito | Oh! The long years lost lusting
The pitiless pit in my stomach - my soul
How completely the hunger consumes us
Devouring
Our fleshless flesh
Plunging deeper, downward, distant
From light, from life, from Her
tasteless, touching touch
Falling
freely - bound for darkest darkness.
Descent declines, rescinds, retracts
An arm, for me? A home.
Four walls, keep out? Trap in?
Retain.
One mouth from hole to whole.
A roaring hearth, some rakish rogues
Beneath a bar laid bare, lay bones
Come stay a while, wick wildest wiles
Feast
We share your final meal
For t'night are knaves, our knives
For you and yours are ours
We lick our lips from tips to tip
Taste
Mettle teeth on medal hearts
We beseech you don't besmirch
Come wallow, wonder, wine
Welcome to our howling home, and
Promise
**"we don't bite"** | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | "Anything else?" the waitress asked me, as she smacked a cup of coffee on the table somewhat carelessly. I think her name was Darla. I shook my head a bit and watched her saunter back to the counter out of the corner of my eye. I knew she had judged me from the moment she saw me. She had given me the same look most everyone else does. It's funny how someone marked and nicked with little white scars on her hands and arms and neck and legs can look down on me for having more of them. To be fair to - whatever her name was... - Darla- ...to be fair to Darla, and to everyone else, I do have lots and lots of little scars. I looked out to the window to my right at a lamp post that illuminated the darkened streets. This was as asleep as the city gets at night.
I started my scar collection as a kid. My mother meant well and might've been a decent parent if she didn't spend her days swigging vodka. My dad was never in the picture. A military man, apparently, who had to move to a base in Europe before I was born, although looking back I'm sure that wasn't true. My mother, now she had a lot of scars. A scar for every time she was going to quit drinking and "do right by me."
The first scar I remember scratching its way onto my skin was when I was probably four or five. My teacher had asked me if I was going to be ok. My mother hadn't come to pick me up which was a semi-frequent event, and I had gotten up to walk home - I lived a 20-minute walk or so away from the school so it wasn't a problem for me. He asked me if I was going to have dinner at home, and I lied. I told him we were having company over and my mom probably just lost track of time cooking this big meal for us all. I don't even know why I lied about it because it was a pointless lie, but I felt the sting on the back of my shoulder as the words left my lips.
Over the years the lies I told people, the lies I told my mother created a tapestry of scar tissue across my body. Sometimes I just wanted to get away from the house and I'd tell her I was staying with a friend. The marks were inconsequential to me.
I'm a journalist now - a failed one - there's no use lying to you. It's funny really because none of my scars ever came from anything I've ever written. I'm stupid; I use my lies on bullshit, instead of making money.
I looked down at my coffee and heard Darla telling a couple large patrons at the counter that she was planning on going back to school soon. I wondered if she got a scar for that or if she really meant it. It didn't really matter to me. I'm not interested in the lies people tell others. That's easy. It's recorded in the history of your body like the rings of a tree and even though they fade over time, more will always take their place - we can't help ourselves. No, what interests me are the lies people tell themselves. When people put makeup over their scars to cover up as many as they can, do they look into the mirror and pretend they are honest?
A bell rang as the door opened. I glanced to my left and saw a young man walk in. And I froze.
"Go ahead and sit where you'd like," Darla yelled out cheerily. "I'll be with you in just a sec."
The newcomer walked towards a back booth, and my eyes stayed fixed on him the entire time. His skin was unmarred by any scar or blemish. I had looked over his face and neck and forearms, and not a mark there was on them. Bullshit. Everyone lies. That is the only consistent truth I have ever known, and I've known that as far back as my memory extends. Everyone is a liar - that is a universal truth. It's the universal truth. I found myself rising out of my seat. My feet carried me towards the man in the back, quickening with each step. My heart pounded.
"Let me see your arms," I managed to squeeze out as I gripped his arm and turned it. My voice was nervous. I quickly jumped to the other arms and hurriedly looked it over. I rubbed his arm spastically to remove any makeup - but there was nothing. I looked up at his face. His eyes were those of a deer's caught in a headlight. What I was doing was crazy, I knew that. I had grabbed a random stranger but he couldn't be this honest. It wasn't possible.
"Where are your scars?" I demanded. He was still taken aback. "Where are they?" I repeated a little more forcefully.
"I- what scars?" he stammered out.
I felt a surge of anger rise up in me.
"Where are your fucking scars!" I yelled at the man and grabbed his shirt at his shoulders. His shocked silence only made me angrier. In an instant, I whipped his shirt up and dumbfoundedly stepped back. The entire front of his torso was one giant mass of scarred flesh.
"How are they all there?" I breathed out. "That can't be from one lie..."
He looked hurt.
"There was an accident," he said dejectedly.
"Bullshit!" I shot back. That was a lie everyone with an exceptional scar tried to get away with. That it wasn't from a lie, but some physical injury instead. I'd heard that one before. Sometimes a new mark was worth keeping the truth in the dark. But there was no new mark. I scanned over his body.
"How did that happen?"
"It was an accident!" he retorted, anger now growing in his voice. "There was a fire in my building! People died...and I was lucky enough to only be left with this at the end of the night."
I looked over his body and watched as no new scars carved their way in. He threw his shirt back down and was clearly angry now. I stepped backward. The diner was silent. I could feel everyone's eyes on me. The man I accosted threw some money on the table and slid out of his booth. He moved passed me and I watched as the only honest man I had ever known walked out of the door. I was brought crashing back down to reality. I glanced towards the counter and saw the two patrons and the waitress staring at me. I walked back to my table and left some money there before walking out the door. I made it a few steps down the sidewalk before my legs went weak. I sat down on the curb and cried.
It was only six months later when I saw the man's face again. This time on the news. His name was Robert Lewis, and he had been arrested for arson. He had set a fire in his apartment building that apparently grew out of control and wound up killing six people and sending dozens more to the hospital. He had been found there lying in the smoke by first responders. But here's the kicker. He hadn't suffered any burns when they found him. That scar only appeared after he had been questioned about the fire by a couple other firefighters before the cops even spoke to him. It took them a couple weeks to realize what happened and then months to find the guy.
Everyone is a liar. He was just better at telling half truths.
Edit: Grammatical | Oh! The long years lost lusting
The pitiless pit in my stomach - my soul
How completely the hunger consumes us
Devouring
Our fleshless flesh
Plunging deeper, downward, distant
From light, from life, from Her
tasteless, touching touch
Falling
freely - bound for darkest darkness.
Descent declines, rescinds, retracts
An arm, for me? A home.
Four walls, keep out? Trap in?
Retain.
One mouth from hole to whole.
A roaring hearth, some rakish rogues
Beneath a bar laid bare, lay bones
Come stay a while, wick wildest wiles
Feast
We share your final meal
For t'night are knaves, our knives
For you and yours are ours
We lick our lips from tips to tip
Taste
Mettle teeth on medal hearts
We beseech you don't besmirch
Come wallow, wonder, wine
Welcome to our howling home, and
Promise
**"we don't bite"** | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | It's a mad world
Nowadays you are asked to take your clothes off in a job interview for god's sake, even in court in some countries, I mean come on sometimes you actually need to lie goddamnit sometimes it actually does some real good but it literally scars you for life...
I have my fair number of scars, mostly very light ones , I can take my shirt off when I go to the beach without most of them showing , heck I can have sex with a girl and they won't notice most, the more necessary you felt that the lie was the better hidden the scar is, so most of mine are in addition to very light on ... convenient spots. I have scars on the back of my thighs, I have two behind my ears, I have some on my armpits . I once heard of a guy who had one on his penis , it turns out how you feel about the lie makes a huge difference in what scar it will leave you and where, just imagine that guy getting undressed in front of a woman , or man whatever he is into anyway. Well at least some girls say scars are sexy, or so I’ve heard.
You do get used to it but still... I once had a pretty long conversation with a war veteran about scars , now that was scarring. He took he shirt off to show me his body he was FULL. I first noticed two bullets scars , didn't think I could recognize them but damn do they look different. The bullet scars though , they were nice compared to the rest , they were in battle defending his country but the rest of his body was more scar tissue than actual skin, there were spots where I couldn't even make out how many scars he had. They formed one big pile of butchered up skin. During our conversation I found out that he actually got all the visible scars he had on his upper body in a single week , he was taken as a prisoner of war and trust me , the only countries that actually give even a single flying fuck about the Geneva convention are the ones that have already won the war. Long story short , pretty much all the scars were from the lies he told trying to lead the enemies away while they were torturing him instead of giving them real information , it's mad how they can torture you into treachery without leaving a scar on your body. It is true though , EVERYONE breaks given enough time.
The war veteran story is my go-to example on why we shouldn't judge people by their scars. There is a whole other story that I just can't get myself to tell. Too goddamn sad , well probably not so when you just hear it as a story but you were not there talking with him you did not see the sorrow and the chaos on his face.
His name was George. In my country he have to serve in the military , mandatory service . The military of course is purely defensive and the service is easier than professional militaries naturally. George was pretty much the nicest guy we all knew , he would never even lie. There had been a few occasions where others were mad at him because he would tell our officers about anything they asked and being the military there were consequences , he really , actually never lied. We also noticed after a couple of months that even though most would get out of bath completely naked since we were only men, he would get in and out always wearing a t-shirt, and whenever he had to change his t-shirt without taking a bath he hid, went to the bathroom or was alone someway. We all wondered but we thought that he just lied without us noticing and wanted to hide his scars , all the others still believe that but I know.
George and I became friends over time. We would go out for a drink , we would even go to the gym or for a run together sometimes. The park where we run was closer to his home so one day when it started raining he told me to come take a shower at his place, he'd lend me some clothes and drive me home. He let me get in to take a shower first. I got in finished my shower and got out, he went in right after me. Seconds after he got in I realized a left my shoes in the bathroom and I sweat a lot so my shoes get smelly so I wanted to get them to the balcony. Being used to it from my service, who we had both finished some months prior to that day, where we didn't really care if someone saw us naked I just opened the door and went in without knocking. God I wish I hadn't.
I saw George's back as he was getting in the shower, he just froze as he saw the awe in my face when I stared at his single scar, one single scar in the entirety of his body , it was a huge scar spanning diagonally on his whole back , it was so large it reminded me of video game characters , and so deep I thought it was see-through where the skin met the spine. I just looked at him and he knew, he got a look that was stuck in his face for the rest of the week and just said "Let me finish my shower and I'll explain".
And so he finished , and so he explained , and so I was moved , then I processed what he said and I was devastated , and then I thought about it once more and I started to cry , then he let go and started to cry even more than I did.
It was one of the saddest stories I had ever heard. Until you are 13-16 depending on the person you get no scars from lying, I mean come on who doesn’t lie as a kid. One day you wake up with an already fainted scar across your whole face which goes away in a day or two and that is how you know you now get scars from lying. So George was relatively lucky as he got his initiation scar a couple of weeks after he became sixteen.
When George was 14 his mother got cancer. His 3 years younger sister got cancer too a year later, while his father had died in an accident when George was 9. His mother was given a 60% chance of getting rid of the cancer for good at the beginning with chemotherapy. She didn’t. A month after she learned that her cancer got too spread to be completely stopped, her daughter got cancer too. George said the doctor believed that his mother must have been exposed to radiation when pregnant with his sister else it was just a very tragic coincidence that they both got cancer in such a small time interval with his sister at such a young age.
George’s mother stopped chemotherapy just before he became 15 since the doctor said it wouldn’t help anymore. His sister was never given much chance, a mere 10% that chemotherapy would even do anything.
His mother couldn’t get out of bed just before George turned 16. At the same time the doctor told his sister that chemotherapy couldn’t do anything anymore and that she was giving her about another year and 6 to 8 months in a “good enough” health.
Naturally George and his sister wanted their mother to die knowing her daughter at least would survive. So they thought they’d lie to her, tell her that her daughter was getting better. George learned how to do makeup and helped his sister so she would seem in good health no matter what happened. They told their mum that even though she had gotten past cancer she started paying attention to the details of life and that she wanted to start putting on make up to look better and her being 13 at the time her mother believed her.
And so George kept lying, with a lie that started a few weeks after he got his first scar, he kept saying the same lie to his mother everyday. His mother got worse and so did his sister. His mother died 6 months after George got 16 years old, his sister one month after that, the doctor predicted wrong. The last two months that their mother was alive his sister couldn’t get out of bed and so every day he lied to his mother that his sister had to study , or that she didn’t get a very good grade on a test and didn’t want to disappoint her , or that she went out with friends whenever his mother asked why his sister didn't visit much. On the days his sister was feeling better she put on make-up, gathered all her strength and walked enough to go sit beside her mother’s bed. And so George kept lying so that his mother would die happy, every day for hours each day he lied to his dying mother that his dying sister was well, a few weeks before the end he told her that his sister had gotten fully rid of her tumor while his sister would faint trying to get up and see her mother. And George kept lying even the last few days when his mother could hardly see or talk and asked to see her daughter, so George said that she went abroad in a school program for students good in literature related subjects and she called him to relay her love for her mother to her, while she was in the hospital 20 meters away on the same floor, hanging on to life by a thread. Then his mother died and he couldn’t lie anymore, his sister died and he could hardly feel like he could live anymore.
All that left him with one big scar, the same lie being told over and over and over again devastating him even more each time, killing him inside and out a bit more each time creating a scar that would never heal. Creating a scar that was bigger than anyone I and maybe anyone else living on this godforsaken planet has ever seen. Creating a scar that made every other evil, obstacle or problem seem redundant, turning George into the best person I had ever known, into the best person anyone that met him had ever known.
It’s a mad world , and it’s mad to judge people by their scars , some carry them with sorrow , some with pride , some with regret some with happiness , some only need one , some have none , some can’t seem to get enough.
.
This is my first ever prompt , pretty much the first story i've ever written to be honest ( outside of school of course). Feedback is appreciated
Also sorry if it got too sad too fast in the end I was listening to Tears in Heaven by Eric Clapton when I started writing , a very sad song who I only found out about yesterday, worth a listen.
Edit: So I'm done with changes to the story , may edit in the future if I find any spelling or grammar mistakes | Oh! The long years lost lusting
The pitiless pit in my stomach - my soul
How completely the hunger consumes us
Devouring
Our fleshless flesh
Plunging deeper, downward, distant
From light, from life, from Her
tasteless, touching touch
Falling
freely - bound for darkest darkness.
Descent declines, rescinds, retracts
An arm, for me? A home.
Four walls, keep out? Trap in?
Retain.
One mouth from hole to whole.
A roaring hearth, some rakish rogues
Beneath a bar laid bare, lay bones
Come stay a while, wick wildest wiles
Feast
We share your final meal
For t'night are knaves, our knives
For you and yours are ours
We lick our lips from tips to tip
Taste
Mettle teeth on medal hearts
We beseech you don't besmirch
Come wallow, wonder, wine
Welcome to our howling home, and
Promise
**"we don't bite"** | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | My deepest cut? Easy. Upper right hip, curving from almost my navel to my asscrack. It's an unusual, but fortunately concealed, spot for me; usually I'm an arm guy, so my parents always dressed me in tshirts, for conveniences sake when asking if I'd done my homework. You'd think they'd have figured it out, after I was held back a grade...
But this chick. Now, I'm a man who knows what I like. Short, curly hair, sundresses, enough scars to show a wild side, few enough scars that I know I won't get a 'git-scar. Happened to one of my buddies once; after his girlfriend found out his "I'm not cheating on you" mark was hidden under his beard, she cut more than hair in taking it off. I told him dating a girl with skin textured like prairie grass was bad news, but he just couldn't resist the crazies. Birds of a feather, I suppose...
But back to this girl. She had it all. The dress. The hair. The... scar. Some chicks hide them, some showcase them. She was a shower, and damn, did she have a lot to show. The dress had to be custom tailored, for it framed and flattered the deep colors of the scar along her back perfectly. But other than that... flawless. Already I longed to stroke her smooth arms, kiss her milky neck, lift up her already short dress...
I approached, and distracted by the juxtaposition of beauty and destruction, went with the lamest, most common of openings. I gestured towards her. "That's quite the display. Is it 'git?"
Her laughter, as expected, sounded like the tinkling of bells. "But of course it's legit!" she said. "It was a tragic accident..." she looked solemn, for a moment, as if getting lost in a painful memory, but then her smile, refreshing as a spring shower, returned. "Though of course, that might not be the case. After all, I only ever speak in lies." | Oh! The long years lost lusting
The pitiless pit in my stomach - my soul
How completely the hunger consumes us
Devouring
Our fleshless flesh
Plunging deeper, downward, distant
From light, from life, from Her
tasteless, touching touch
Falling
freely - bound for darkest darkness.
Descent declines, rescinds, retracts
An arm, for me? A home.
Four walls, keep out? Trap in?
Retain.
One mouth from hole to whole.
A roaring hearth, some rakish rogues
Beneath a bar laid bare, lay bones
Come stay a while, wick wildest wiles
Feast
We share your final meal
For t'night are knaves, our knives
For you and yours are ours
We lick our lips from tips to tip
Taste
Mettle teeth on medal hearts
We beseech you don't besmirch
Come wallow, wonder, wine
Welcome to our howling home, and
Promise
**"we don't bite"** | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | They said we'd meet all kinds at university. I grew up in a small farming town and I can't tell you how right they were.
With the recent election behind us, tensions were still high. The debates had been arduous. Should we deal with climate change via the solar route or reach out to newer frontiers of nuclear or wave power.
I have to admit I was disappointed I missed the lottery for physics 570, which meant a free semester on one of the 17 lunar colonies, but if I was being honest with myself I knew my scores didn't merit more than a single ticket in the pool.
I'd met several people who honestly believed we'd establish more than a foothold on mars, which I couldn't believe. I mean with the em drive version 4 we were pushing on to Europa, and water base station. Huge lead plates were already on the way with humans soon to follow.
The abundance of food, advances in medicine, and lack of disease (thanks to vaccines and proper medication) meant I was honored to be taught English 104 by a professor that was alive when electric cars were just being invented.
But I never thought to meet a heretic.
She was pretty, excepting the large red scar that marred her face and neck. Almost half an inch across and running from her forehead down her face, over her jaw, and disappearing under her shirt the scar was open red raw, proof she repeated the lie again. Not that any of had to ask what it was, with the thin golden cross hanging from her necklace.
I stayed away from her, like the others, as I focused on my studies and where I wanted to take not only my life but the human race, out among the stars. | Oh! The long years lost lusting
The pitiless pit in my stomach - my soul
How completely the hunger consumes us
Devouring
Our fleshless flesh
Plunging deeper, downward, distant
From light, from life, from Her
tasteless, touching touch
Falling
freely - bound for darkest darkness.
Descent declines, rescinds, retracts
An arm, for me? A home.
Four walls, keep out? Trap in?
Retain.
One mouth from hole to whole.
A roaring hearth, some rakish rogues
Beneath a bar laid bare, lay bones
Come stay a while, wick wildest wiles
Feast
We share your final meal
For t'night are knaves, our knives
For you and yours are ours
We lick our lips from tips to tip
Taste
Mettle teeth on medal hearts
We beseech you don't besmirch
Come wallow, wonder, wine
Welcome to our howling home, and
Promise
**"we don't bite"** | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | You want to know how I got these scars?
Well, for one thing they aren’t ‘scars’, if you look closely you’ll see it’s one continuous scar that travels around my face, neck, down my body, all around wrapping itself around my arms, legs, fingers and toes.
The only part of my body that isn’t scarred tissue is the inside of my body and even a bit of my mouth is still scarred.
So the correct question you want to ask is how did I get this scar?
Singular.
Well, you know that old saying? About how a girl likes a guy with scars? It shows they’re a bad boy, that they kick a lot of ass or in my case lie.
I didn’t kick anyone’s ass or get into a big crash, I lied.
That’s pretty much what happened.
I suppose you’ll want specifics.
Well, years ago back when I was unblemished, face filled with pimples and a voice that didn’t quite want to go low I had a crush on a girl.
A pretty girl, one that seemed to really like me with not a scar on her body as far as I could tell! So when she told me she loved me I believed her totally and without reservation.
We went out, kissed and eventually I did find she had scars. I won’t share the details of how I found out but I’m sure your imagination can fill in the blanks. Anyways, her scars, they were here and there. Small ones mostly with two or three medium sized ones. I asked her about them and she told me she didn’t want to talk about them. She seemed ashamed.
I wanted to tell her that she was human, that everyone had scars.
Then she looked at me and asked if I had any?
Well, I didn’t but I didn’t want her to feel bad so I said yes.
Next thing I knew I felt something scratch my arm and there it was. A scar.
Now that should’ve been the end of that but here’s the weird thing. It then sorta vanished. Then came back twice as bad as it realized I was sorta telling the truth but lying at the same time.
It couldn’t decide what to do.
So it just kept going.
So here I was with my girlfriend in front of me with my eyes wide in horror as the scar kept scratching me, fading and growing again. By the time it all stopped I was still screaming. Honestly I had no idea when I started.
And now we’re married.
| Oh! The long years lost lusting
The pitiless pit in my stomach - my soul
How completely the hunger consumes us
Devouring
Our fleshless flesh
Plunging deeper, downward, distant
From light, from life, from Her
tasteless, touching touch
Falling
freely - bound for darkest darkness.
Descent declines, rescinds, retracts
An arm, for me? A home.
Four walls, keep out? Trap in?
Retain.
One mouth from hole to whole.
A roaring hearth, some rakish rogues
Beneath a bar laid bare, lay bones
Come stay a while, wick wildest wiles
Feast
We share your final meal
For t'night are knaves, our knives
For you and yours are ours
We lick our lips from tips to tip
Taste
Mettle teeth on medal hearts
We beseech you don't besmirch
Come wallow, wonder, wine
Welcome to our howling home, and
Promise
**"we don't bite"** | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | The subway rattled it's syncopated song, barumm...bum, bum...barumm...bum, bum...barumm...bum, bum. About twenty lonely people swayed back and forth in harmony within the car. There are usually a few homeless people at this hour. One typically sat in the far back corner, asleep.
But tonight there was just a guy with puffy eyes in a white tee shirt with sleeves that came to around the middle of his bicep. He was thin, but not sickeningly so, moderately handsome, and utterly defeated judging by his posture. His most striking feature of all was a newly formed slash down his forearm. The largest I've ever seen, by far. Still wet, they would say. His second most striking feature was the absence of any other scars.
Now usually, you get at least a few scars growing up. It's kind of like touching a burner as a kid. You just have to learn from experience. You might tell a fib at school about homework, and pets that have suddenly acquired an appetite for homework, and you collect a few scars along the way. I sure as hell did at least.
But this guy had to have made it all the way here, in New York City of all places, without telling a single lie. Well, until today. I was intrigued. I mean, how could you not be? He was Mother-freaking-Teresa, but even she probably failed to disclose the secret location of her breadbasket base every now and then. "Dantooine...they're all on Dantooine," she might have said.
I approached, with caution. I recognize this was selfish of me, but maybe the guy needed someone to talk to.
"Hey, man. You doing ok?" I said, conveying empathy the best my socially awkward self could manage.
"Yeah," the kid, who I just realized was only about 26, if that, said with such brevity that he may as well said nothing at all.
"Look, I don't usually intrude on people's private affairs. It's just, usually a homeless guy who goes by Squirrel sits where you are now and I don't think the strongest constitution in the bowel department, if you get my meaning."
The kid smiled at least, wiping his right eye with his scarless forearm, and moved to the bench seat next to where I was standing. "I'm John," he said.
"Hi John, it's a pleasure. I'm Matt." I sat down next to him. "Maybe if you tell me about your day, you will be distracted enough to forget it."
"I guess we aren't really going anywhere, are we." The doors to the subway car opened to dump out about half its contents. Those left in the car were otherwise enthralled in their phones or their headphones. "How many more stops do you have?"
"Twelve."
"Me too." He looked around the car, as the doors closed and the car lurched forward with the same barumm...bum, bum...barumm...bum, bum. I guess he adjudged the car private enough, so he began his story.
It all started with a girl. Imagine that. "Ah, to be young again," I thought. Brown hair, decent looks, and smart, he said. He had dated her for four years. They had graduated college together, fallen in love, and moved in to a too-small-but-hey-we-are-achieving-our-dreams-and-living-in-the-big-city-oh-look-a-dead-rat-its-nothing-we-will-get-used-to-it apartment. They even got one of those stupid plant holders that hang out of window sills. You know the ones that kill about eight people a year in a city like the Big Apple.
John had been the perfect boyfriend to Sally. He got her cute gifts that were within his budget, but not too within his budget, and he was nice to all of her friends. He even took her to a Giants game or two. Hell, he even ended up on the big screen for a kiss that ended up being televised on WFAN because of the quirky way he tossed the popcorn aside and did one of those "back from the war" kisses.
They even got engaged.
But last year, Sally was diagnosed with a cognitive disorder that changed her behavior. Sally was never the same again. She had flashes of anger, where she would insult John and his family. She would talk of other guys she had been with in the past, when she never did that before. She would even compare John to other guys that they had been around, telling him why they were better than him. This went on for a year.
She demeaned him to the point of no return, yet he remained there with her. John kept her medication in order and cooked for her, because processes were lost at that point. After Sally lost control of her colon he cleaned their Murphy Bed in their too-small-but-hey-we-are-achieving-our-dreams-and-living-in-the-big-city-oh-look-a-dead-rat-its-nothing-we-will-get-used-to-it apartment. He sat with her in the hospital for two weeks and lost his accounting job due to it. He was there today when she died.
Sally had looked up at him within her last hour and said she remembered the day they watched a dog in Central Park on a long leash literally wrap its owner up "101 Dalmatians" style and drag him a few yards. They laughed aloud, heads back like Peanuts characters, like they had many times before Sally became ill. She looked up at John, with tears welling in her eyes. For a brief moment, the old Sally was there.
"I love you," she said.
"I love you, too," he replied. | Oh! The long years lost lusting
The pitiless pit in my stomach - my soul
How completely the hunger consumes us
Devouring
Our fleshless flesh
Plunging deeper, downward, distant
From light, from life, from Her
tasteless, touching touch
Falling
freely - bound for darkest darkness.
Descent declines, rescinds, retracts
An arm, for me? A home.
Four walls, keep out? Trap in?
Retain.
One mouth from hole to whole.
A roaring hearth, some rakish rogues
Beneath a bar laid bare, lay bones
Come stay a while, wick wildest wiles
Feast
We share your final meal
For t'night are knaves, our knives
For you and yours are ours
We lick our lips from tips to tip
Taste
Mettle teeth on medal hearts
We beseech you don't besmirch
Come wallow, wonder, wine
Welcome to our howling home, and
Promise
**"we don't bite"** | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | I pass the open door of my favourite cafe, a warm plume of caramel scented air greets me, inviting me and pulling me off the cold winter street. I let myself get carried over to the bar, expecting to see the usual waiter; a burly man in his 40s wearing the usual faded suit jacket and dark jeans. As I look up, my breath is plucked from my lungs. I aren't greeted by the thinning blond hair and piercing blue eyes I expected, but a girl. Soft hair, brown and untamed cascaded over her shoulders on to the pristine white shirt and onto her bust. Everything seems to be in slow motion as my eyes trace every contour and shape of her body in detail. Unlike me, or any of the other customers, who's hands are littered with small flecks of white, which was the cost of keeping face in today's society, she was completely pure. From her head to her toes, not a single blemish on her silk skin. She is the definition of beautiful. Her delicate, porcelain hands clasped together in front of that short black dress, which is formal but still very attractive. Green eyes flicked up with a look of coy and curiosity as a faint smile worked it's way onto her soft peach lips. I blush. Her voice resonated into my mind, cutting off my thought. Matching her appearance, her words are softly spoken and sweet. The type of voice that reminds you of home.
"Hi, my name's Mei. What are you ordering today, sir" she asks with enthusiasm.
"Uh... a.." I fumble through my speech like a nervous child on his first day of school "A number 7 please" I falter for a moment after realizing my mistake. There is no number 7 on the menu.
As soon as the words leave me, her eyes narrow. The persona of before has left her and now, all I can think of is danger. She asks me to follow her in a quick and monotone voice. That voice reminded me of a killer. Her speech and her walking pattern, as she walks through to a separate room is ruthless and efficient. No wasted movement. I follow nervously, almost tripping over myself and take a seat opposite her in the exquisitely decorated room I now find myself in. A square table, wooden and stained dark, separates us.
"So Mr.. Hudson. You requested a model 23, complete organ transplants. You've transferred 14 million, half of the payment and were ready to begin."
I don't understand. I'm panicking. Did she just say organ transplant? I desperately try to think of a way out of this situation but I'm distracted by the sight of Mei taking her formal shirt off to reveal a very thin, white top underneath. She looks so damn perfect. I've gained momentary relief from my panic just by the mere sight of her. That's when the real Mr Hudson walks in. He is very old and withered, covered in long, deep scars, spiralling across his body. He must be about 80, and he speaks with a dry, raspy voice.
"I'm here to see Mei"
he says almost innocently. Mei walks to meet him and that's when I see it. A huge, deep purple scar under the thin shirt she's wearing, swimming from the top of her neck all the way down to the small of her back, and then way past where I can see. She approaches him calmly whispers something in his ear. He raises and eyebrow and they both smile. My sense of danger kicks in again, and adrenaline starts to course through my veins. I get it now.
"Now then sir, as you are probably aware, there has been a confusion between you and Mr Hudson here" she says gesturing to the old man with an open palm.
She doesn't have to tell the truth like the rest of us.
"Don't worry sir." She walks towards me with a smile. A smile of malice.
That's not her body.
"You're going to be just fine." She smiles as her green eyes turn cold and run through me.
That's not her fucking body. | Oh! The long years lost lusting
The pitiless pit in my stomach - my soul
How completely the hunger consumes us
Devouring
Our fleshless flesh
Plunging deeper, downward, distant
From light, from life, from Her
tasteless, touching touch
Falling
freely - bound for darkest darkness.
Descent declines, rescinds, retracts
An arm, for me? A home.
Four walls, keep out? Trap in?
Retain.
One mouth from hole to whole.
A roaring hearth, some rakish rogues
Beneath a bar laid bare, lay bones
Come stay a while, wick wildest wiles
Feast
We share your final meal
For t'night are knaves, our knives
For you and yours are ours
We lick our lips from tips to tip
Taste
Mettle teeth on medal hearts
We beseech you don't besmirch
Come wallow, wonder, wine
Welcome to our howling home, and
Promise
**"we don't bite"** | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | I groan as I roll out of bed. Another day, trapped.
Mom feeds me breakfast, smiling her usual smile as she talks about what the old ladies at church had been discussing. Heedless of the struggles going on in my head. I eat my eggs and bread in silence, trying to stay as small, as invisible as possible. I don’t say very much… perhaps that was why I didn’t have the usual scars that cover everyone else?
I pass by the store on my way to school, making sure not to linger for too long, not let my brother get suspicious. I stare wistfully at the dresses and necklaces, so elegant and pretty. But my parents would never let me have such things. I glance down at my jeans and sweatshirt, hating how it made me appear masculine. My own body, betraying me.
School passed by in a blur, like most days. My brother runs ahead, laughing as he bounds into our house without a care in the world. How nice it must be, to be born into the body you want. Father smiles at me, asks me the same question he’s asked every day since I started school. I noticed the scar that first night he asked, on my back as I took off my shirt to shower. It was the biggest I’d ever seen. I’ve never taken off my shirt in front of my family ever since.
“Hey, kid! How’s life treating ya?”
I pause, for a brief moment.
“Fine, dad. I’m fine.” | Oh! The long years lost lusting
The pitiless pit in my stomach - my soul
How completely the hunger consumes us
Devouring
Our fleshless flesh
Plunging deeper, downward, distant
From light, from life, from Her
tasteless, touching touch
Falling
freely - bound for darkest darkness.
Descent declines, rescinds, retracts
An arm, for me? A home.
Four walls, keep out? Trap in?
Retain.
One mouth from hole to whole.
A roaring hearth, some rakish rogues
Beneath a bar laid bare, lay bones
Come stay a while, wick wildest wiles
Feast
We share your final meal
For t'night are knaves, our knives
For you and yours are ours
We lick our lips from tips to tip
Taste
Mettle teeth on medal hearts
We beseech you don't besmirch
Come wallow, wonder, wine
Welcome to our howling home, and
Promise
**"we don't bite"** | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | The scar - singular, I must highlight - was so horrific, so deep, and so... extensive... It's either one huge lie, or... I had to look away as I realised I could take a full anatomy lesson just by looking at him naked.
"I'm a software engineer, IT guy, and all round tech-guru," he murmured. "I keep skipping reading the sodding Terms and Conditions." | Oh! The long years lost lusting
The pitiless pit in my stomach - my soul
How completely the hunger consumes us
Devouring
Our fleshless flesh
Plunging deeper, downward, distant
From light, from life, from Her
tasteless, touching touch
Falling
freely - bound for darkest darkness.
Descent declines, rescinds, retracts
An arm, for me? A home.
Four walls, keep out? Trap in?
Retain.
One mouth from hole to whole.
A roaring hearth, some rakish rogues
Beneath a bar laid bare, lay bones
Come stay a while, wick wildest wiles
Feast
We share your final meal
For t'night are knaves, our knives
For you and yours are ours
We lick our lips from tips to tip
Taste
Mettle teeth on medal hearts
We beseech you don't besmirch
Come wallow, wonder, wine
Welcome to our howling home, and
Promise
**"we don't bite"** | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | I had always been comfortable with my scars. Thin silver and white lines were strewn across my skin, but they were small enough that you could only see them if you were standing close to me. I tried my best not to lie to others, but sometimes there was an option worse than deception.
My chemistry lab partner from my freshman year of college had flawless skin. He often seemed distant or tired, but he was kind, hardworking, and by the looks of his skin, incredibly honest. I had never seen anyone like him and was instantly intrigued. Between classwork, study sessions, and late night pizza runs, I found myself falling in love with him. When I asked him if he would ever give me a chance, he said yes. My eyes glanced over his skin to gauge his honesty, but alas, no scars appeared.
Before long, that man was my husband. Mark was never close to his family and focused all his energy on me and making sure that we had an amazing life together. In his vows he told me he would always love me and that I brought a new light to his life. On our honeymoon, his skin was still as flawless as the day he was born, and I knew that he meant every word.
One day I was fixing dinner for Mark and myself. He stepped through the front door after a long day of work and I rushed into his arms to kiss him and ask about his day. He set down his briefcase, loosened his tie, and sighed.
"What's wrong baby?" I asked. With sad eyes, he ever so slightly lifted his head to look at me and mumbled "My father died."
I had never met Mark's father. His parents divorced when he was young, and Mark had a spotty relationship with his father after the divorce. I wasn't sure how deeply this news was affecting my husband, but I grabbed his hand and stretched up to my tip toes to kiss his forehead. Using my free hand to lift up his chin, I looked into Mark's once brilliantly bright eyes and told him I would do whatever he needed me to do.
Six days later, I tightened the tie Mark asked me to pick out for him. I slipped on my heels and told Mark that I would be right beside him as he said his final goodbyes to his father. He chose not to speak at the funeral, but before he left he placed one hand on the casket, closed his eyes, and whispered "I love you, Dad."
That night, I climbed into the shower with Mark to hold him close and comfort him. Sprawled across Mark's back was the longest, deepest scar I had ever seen. My husband's skin had been flawless that morning, and the only thing he had said all day was that he had loved his father.
Concerned, I called Mark's mother the next day while Mark was at work. It took some encouraging, but his mom finally spilled the only secret Mark had ever kept from me. "Hannah, Mark had an older sister. When Mark's father and I divorced, Mark stayed with me and his sister moved in with her dad. When Mark was 11, his dad was driving his sister to a friend's birthday party....only he was drunk. He ran a red light and a car crossing the intersection crashed into the passenger side of the car, killing Mark's sister. I don't think Mark ever saw his father sober after that, and he never fully forgave him."
Disbelieving, I thanked Mark's mother for her time and hung up. I never mentioned the conversation or the new scar to Mark, but I held him a little tighter and kissed him a little longer that night. His skin would never be flawless again, but to me he was still perfect. | Oh! The long years lost lusting
The pitiless pit in my stomach - my soul
How completely the hunger consumes us
Devouring
Our fleshless flesh
Plunging deeper, downward, distant
From light, from life, from Her
tasteless, touching touch
Falling
freely - bound for darkest darkness.
Descent declines, rescinds, retracts
An arm, for me? A home.
Four walls, keep out? Trap in?
Retain.
One mouth from hole to whole.
A roaring hearth, some rakish rogues
Beneath a bar laid bare, lay bones
Come stay a while, wick wildest wiles
Feast
We share your final meal
For t'night are knaves, our knives
For you and yours are ours
We lick our lips from tips to tip
Taste
Mettle teeth on medal hearts
We beseech you don't besmirch
Come wallow, wonder, wine
Welcome to our howling home, and
Promise
**"we don't bite"** | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | I'd... I'd never seen anything like it. It went through her body to the other side. I've seen murderers and heavily experienced con-men with shallower scars. This was... shocking.
The moonlight reflected from her fair, creamy skin as we walked. I looked for more lies, but I could find none. Only the deep one across her chest, the one she showed but never explained. Even the last Pope had two scars, albeit quite shallow.
She swept her silky amber hair to the side and showed a faint smile. She seemed happy, but I was not. I couldn't focus. I needed to know her lie. I *had to know*, but I didn't want to drive her away. I tried the subtle approach, but I'm not too good with subtlety.
"Would you like to know how I got these scars?" I asked, like the Joker after a five-month hospital regimen. My shyness was showing, but I'm not sure she picked up on it.
"Sure, if you want to tell. As long as it doesn't make you uncomfortable."
I pointed to the one on my forearm. That was a... memorable one, to say the least.
"This was when I lied about smoking weed and having sex. I was a dumb teenager who was too dependant on what people thought of me. I wanted to be cool, but I was just a sheltered brat."
"You're a little hard on yourself. We all make mistakes."
Very inspiring, but almost hollow coming from her. I gestured to the deep one on my neck.
"This was when I lied about setting our garage on fire. I was playing around with my dad's lighter when I dropped it on the floor. For some reason, there was gas leaking from the car. The fumes ignited. The whole thing went up in flames. I said it was an electrical problem."
"How much was the damage?"
"100K, including the price of a new car. That drained our savings."
"Wow..."
I finished on my final one, my third one. A very deep one on my stomach. This was my least favorite.
"This was when I lied about checking on grandma when she called our house. I ignored the call and told my parents she was fine. She'd called... she'd called us to say she fell and broke her back on the bathtub... she died the next day... I just... I feel so much guilt... and I told my parents it wasn't my fault..."
"I'm sorry... that's horrible."
"It's fine. The experience lead me to stop lying. I haven't told a lie in over 10 years."
"Me too."
An awkward silence hung over us. Would she talk about the scar? Would she ignore it? No, no no no we're nearing her apartment. I gotta say something!
"I have a question, but you don't have to answer it if it makes you uncomfortable."
"Shoot."
"How did you get that scar across your chest?"
She chuckled a bit, as if amused by my question.
"LARP accident. Some guy brought a real claymore sword. He cut through my foam armor and went straight through my midsection, almost took my upper half off. The doctors say it was a miracle I survived."
It... it wasn't a lie? It was an accident? That's so... relieving! My word, here I was thinking-- wait, is that a new scar on her arm?
She laughed an unconvincing laugh.
"I-I wasn't lying, that was true! I'm not a murderer or anything!"
Another scar popped up.
*And I ran.*
*****
I ran so far awaaaaaay. I just raaaaan, I ran all night and daaaaay. I couldn't get away! /r/Picklestasteg00d.
| Oh! The long years lost lusting
The pitiless pit in my stomach - my soul
How completely the hunger consumes us
Devouring
Our fleshless flesh
Plunging deeper, downward, distant
From light, from life, from Her
tasteless, touching touch
Falling
freely - bound for darkest darkness.
Descent declines, rescinds, retracts
An arm, for me? A home.
Four walls, keep out? Trap in?
Retain.
One mouth from hole to whole.
A roaring hearth, some rakish rogues
Beneath a bar laid bare, lay bones
Come stay a while, wick wildest wiles
Feast
We share your final meal
For t'night are knaves, our knives
For you and yours are ours
We lick our lips from tips to tip
Taste
Mettle teeth on medal hearts
We beseech you don't besmirch
Come wallow, wonder, wine
Welcome to our howling home, and
Promise
**"we don't bite"** | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | We lived side by side spending our days joined at the hips so much so people thought we were brothers. My skin was covered in them by the time I was 12 while he hadn’t got a single mark yet, I was slightly envious of his clear skin that impressed people for a boy his age. When I asked him how he did it, he simply shrugged and said anything was possible with a slight grin. His vague reply made me more jealous, sure I lied more than most kids my age but most of the lies were petty and insignificant that I didn’t think twice about. Plus, the marks I got didn’t hurt one bit so it just sorta added up after a while.
Then childhood ended and I moved away right before I started high-school. We didn’t really keep in contact with each other like how most kids promise but never do. It wasn’t any different with us, by the time my 20s came around he was just a hazy childhood friend I had all but forgotten about.
It was blistering hot that day, too hot to wear anything but short sleeves and pants. I hated wearing those types of clothes, while most people’s scars were skinny and faded into their skin. Mine had become more gashed and discolored as I grew older, I was one of the unlucky ones whose skin healed badly to these marks. Just genetics they told me.
I was walking back from the bus stop when I saw him in front of me, his clear pale skin devoid of any scars got my attention first before I saw his face. When I looked up at his face that’s when I recognized him, I called out his name and waved slightly at him. His face looked blank for a moment before lighting up in recognition as well. His pasty lips smiled at me and called me over, while we caught up all I could notice was how unblemished his arms and legs looked. Scars usually showed up first on your limbs before covering your whole body.
He must have noticed my gawking and laughed a bit before telling me to not trust your first impressions. I was confused by what he meant, but when I asked he just smiled a bit wider.
“Ben, I was actually kind of happy you were jealous of me when we were younger. In a way, I was just lucky they showed up in places where no one noticed.” He said to me, before turning his back and walking away before I could reply.
I noticed a painful red looking scar peeking out from the back of his neck and drops of red starting to stain his white shirt.
| She said: "I'm Catholic, and for my first confession we were herded before the priest and told to tell him our sins. At seven years old, I knew I had to make something up or be punished for the sin of Satan, Pride."
That was the only time I couldn't tell the truth so, "'I'm a liar,'" I lied. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | We met at a bar one evening. She had a beer in her hand, something local on tap, about half-drained. We struck up some conversation - weather or sports or some such, I don't remember, small talk though. She made some passing comment about liking my ears, and I almost brushed it off as false praise - I think they stick out a bit too much - before I noticed her smooth skin; not a single scar visible.
I had my own fair share of lies cut into my skin - most minor, a few major. Even the bigger ones I'd usually defend, outside of a big one on my arm. "I've been clean for a year!". Even so, that's the least regretful mistake from that part of my life - I'm proud to say I can say that line now without the scar growing larger.
I got her name - Jane - and later, her number. We ended up setting up a date for the following weekend, and hit it off quickly. Similar interests - hiking, video games, cooking... Well, mostly same interests, anyway. I remember her coy smile when I said I liked her Coltrane collection, and a line of skin on my forearm darkened. Can't stand jazz, really.
I thought for about a month that she was perfectly honest, until we went to bed together. Jane seemed reluctant to take off her shirt, but that same honesty that kept her skin smooth must have demanded she not cover up now - her bra came off, and across the inside of her left breast was the deepest scar that I've ever seen. It wasn't a discoloration like most scars - it was like a knotted rope was underneath the skin.
It wasn't the sort of thing you can comment on lightly, but at the same time, it would be more conspicuous to ignore it. She was clearly distressed, waiting for my reaction. I wasn't sure what to say, but we were both naked at that point so there was no hoping that a lie would be covered up by clothing.
"There's obviously a story here, and I'm curious, but... Right now, it's not important. I'm willing to wait until you're willing to tell me on your own terms" I said, and punctuated the sentence with a kiss. She ran a hand through my short hair, and the encounter continued naturally after that. But frankly the details are none of your business.
It was another six months before I learned any more details about that scar of hers. We were quite serious by now, and I'd had plenty of opportunities to see it again at this point.
Jane told me that her parents were going to be coming by for Thanksgiving, and that she wanted me to be there. Her face was strangely tense, and when I pressed for information, she just said that she didn't feel up for explaining. What could I say to that? So, I didn't press the issue, and waited for Thursday to roll around.
Her parents showed up - her mother was a frumpy sort of woman, with a flowery dress, and her father was tall, but had a thick neck and a double chin. I was surprised the two of them could have produced such a beautiful daughter, but all the same I could see some resemblance, particularly in the eyes and nose.
The first thing I heard her father say - before even "hello" - was right after he jerked a thumb in my direction. "Is this that friend of yours? She looks like a fucking dyke." Her mother agreed emphatically. I found myself dumbstruck, unable to respond. Jane laughed uncomfortably, but her father didn't seem to notice - he was sniffing the air.
"Turkey's already on, eh? Surprised you haven't caught yourself a husband yet, with your cooking. Hah!"
"No luck yet, but I'm sure I'll find one one of these days." Jane replied with a weak smile, clearly hiding a wince as the scar above her heart wrought its way deeper into her skin. | She said: "I'm Catholic, and for my first confession we were herded before the priest and told to tell him our sins. At seven years old, I knew I had to make something up or be punished for the sin of Satan, Pride."
That was the only time I couldn't tell the truth so, "'I'm a liar,'" I lied. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | It was the middle of the January, one of the better times to lie if you had to. In the cold winter months, you could get away with hiding your secrets under an oversized, baggy sweater. There just enough snow in the air that to make the sky seem to sparkle, but it was nothing compared to the sparkle in her piercing green eyes when they first made contact with mine. I swear, it was love at first sight.
Her hair was close cut, its raven black color a stark contrast to the white world which framed it. Her cheeks and nose had a splash of red from the cold. Fuzzy earmuffs, slightly oversized on her head, enveloped her ears. The cold steam of her breath escaped in short bursts from thin, pursed lips. She turned toward me a bit, wrapping her puffy red coat snugly around her body and drawing her arms over her chest for warmth. Skinny black jeans, the kind that showed off just enough of her curves, ran down into pristine white boots, the soles of which were almost obscured by the thin layer of snow on the ground.
In short, she was perfect.
Before I realized what I was doing, I hid my hands in my coat pockets self-consciously. I cursed myself for not having the foresight to wear gloves. Most of mine show up on my hands, and seeing all of them up front tends to give people the wrong first impression. See, the Scars have something of a twisted sense of humor. You tell a lie about some action you've taken, you get a scar on your arms or hands; tell a lie about somewhere you've been, you get a scar on your legs or feet; tell a lie about what you think, you get a scar somewhere on your head. Medical experts have been studying the scars for as far back as anyone can remember, but the best science can tell us is that they just... happen. For all science knows, the world could be home to legions of overly vigilant, painfully ironic fairies wielding pocket knives.
Gathering my courage, I unzipped my coat and started walking in her direction. I nearly stopped myself and turned away a couple of times, but I'd promised myself long ago to always be truthful to my feelings. Nonetheless, I stalled awkwardly when I came close. Her green eyes watching me, the smell of her perfume drifting over to me, the cold wind blowing against my shirt...
I took a deep breath. I probably looked like an idiot. But, now was not the time to panic. I laid my heart out on the line, in more ways than one. I told her she was one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen, and that if she would allow me the opportunity, I wanted to take her somewhere special. That might seem a bit direct, but it helps your case a lot when a girl can simply watch your chest to see if your feelings are genuine. Sure enough, no bloodstain appeared. She looked down at the snowy ground, her cheeks growing even more red in the cold weather.
"Alright," she said, her lips teasing into a slight smile. "What did you have in mind?"
Good question. What did I have in mind?
We ended up in a nearby restaurant, though I can't for the life of me remember how. I got really lucky is probably the best answer. As we took our seats in the booth, she took off her outer jacket, revealing a white sweater underneath. I didn't think anything of it at first.
Slowly, as if unsure of herself, she unzipped the sweater too and pulled it down her arms, not fully off but not quite on either. Beneath it, she was wearing a rather tight shirt which revealed her slender arms and the fair skin of her midriff. I was caught completely off-guard by her drastic change of apparel. She shivered a bit and rubber her shoulders.
I sat there speechless, transfixed by her beauty. Her skin was so... perfect. Not a single scar marred her arms, her stomach, her neck, or anything. I realized I must have been staring, and turned a way just a bit too quickly.
"It's okay," she said softly, pulling her coat back on. "I wanted you to see that, since... I mean, you were so up front with me and... but not in a bad way, and... I guess I could've just told you outright..." She stared at the table a bit too pointedly.
I smiled to myself. At least I wasn't the only one who was bad at this.
...
That was three years ago, back when life was so much simpler. Back before the diagnosis, before the painful treatments which dragged on into weeks and then months. Before we learned about the cancer that was eating away, slowly but surely, at her brain.
The doctors told us nothing could be done. They could treat her, give her drugs to ease the suffering and ultimately the transition, but she was never going to get better. They said she would be... gone... within a few months. I stared at them like a hawk as they spoke, scrutinizing every inch of skin as I processed each sentence, but no Scars came. It was the truth.
We were both left to ask why it had to be her.
She grew irritable and lashed out, though I could hardly blame her. They said it was pressing on her brain, altering her mood and her thoughts. I'm not ashamed to admit that I bawled my eyes out when I first heard the news. But I had to be strong, I had to keep going. I had to be a rock, no matter how hard that would be.
As her time in the hospital grew, so did the doses they gave her. On one of her worse nights, I sat there with her as she tried to process all the built up frustration. I could see in her eyes that she didn't fully recognize me, a look I would never grow used to.
With no other outlet, she turned it on me.
"Why did this have to happen?" she suddenly screamed at me, choking back a sob. Tears streamed down her cheeks. "I... I hate you!"
For a moment, neither of us said anything. We sat in near silence, interrupted only by the occasional sob. I watched her somberly, not daring to react. And that's when I saw it.
A large pool of blood soaked into her hospital gown, just above her heart. The only Scar she would ever have.
...
Thanks for reading!
-ShutainzuGeito | She said: "I'm Catholic, and for my first confession we were herded before the priest and told to tell him our sins. At seven years old, I knew I had to make something up or be punished for the sin of Satan, Pride."
That was the only time I couldn't tell the truth so, "'I'm a liar,'" I lied. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | It's a mad world
Nowadays you are asked to take your clothes off in a job interview for god's sake, even in court in some countries, I mean come on sometimes you actually need to lie goddamnit sometimes it actually does some real good but it literally scars you for life...
I have my fair number of scars, mostly very light ones , I can take my shirt off when I go to the beach without most of them showing , heck I can have sex with a girl and they won't notice most, the more necessary you felt that the lie was the better hidden the scar is, so most of mine are in addition to very light on ... convenient spots. I have scars on the back of my thighs, I have two behind my ears, I have some on my armpits . I once heard of a guy who had one on his penis , it turns out how you feel about the lie makes a huge difference in what scar it will leave you and where, just imagine that guy getting undressed in front of a woman , or man whatever he is into anyway. Well at least some girls say scars are sexy, or so I’ve heard.
You do get used to it but still... I once had a pretty long conversation with a war veteran about scars , now that was scarring. He took he shirt off to show me his body he was FULL. I first noticed two bullets scars , didn't think I could recognize them but damn do they look different. The bullet scars though , they were nice compared to the rest , they were in battle defending his country but the rest of his body was more scar tissue than actual skin, there were spots where I couldn't even make out how many scars he had. They formed one big pile of butchered up skin. During our conversation I found out that he actually got all the visible scars he had on his upper body in a single week , he was taken as a prisoner of war and trust me , the only countries that actually give even a single flying fuck about the Geneva convention are the ones that have already won the war. Long story short , pretty much all the scars were from the lies he told trying to lead the enemies away while they were torturing him instead of giving them real information , it's mad how they can torture you into treachery without leaving a scar on your body. It is true though , EVERYONE breaks given enough time.
The war veteran story is my go-to example on why we shouldn't judge people by their scars. There is a whole other story that I just can't get myself to tell. Too goddamn sad , well probably not so when you just hear it as a story but you were not there talking with him you did not see the sorrow and the chaos on his face.
His name was George. In my country he have to serve in the military , mandatory service . The military of course is purely defensive and the service is easier than professional militaries naturally. George was pretty much the nicest guy we all knew , he would never even lie. There had been a few occasions where others were mad at him because he would tell our officers about anything they asked and being the military there were consequences , he really , actually never lied. We also noticed after a couple of months that even though most would get out of bath completely naked since we were only men, he would get in and out always wearing a t-shirt, and whenever he had to change his t-shirt without taking a bath he hid, went to the bathroom or was alone someway. We all wondered but we thought that he just lied without us noticing and wanted to hide his scars , all the others still believe that but I know.
George and I became friends over time. We would go out for a drink , we would even go to the gym or for a run together sometimes. The park where we run was closer to his home so one day when it started raining he told me to come take a shower at his place, he'd lend me some clothes and drive me home. He let me get in to take a shower first. I got in finished my shower and got out, he went in right after me. Seconds after he got in I realized a left my shoes in the bathroom and I sweat a lot so my shoes get smelly so I wanted to get them to the balcony. Being used to it from my service, who we had both finished some months prior to that day, where we didn't really care if someone saw us naked I just opened the door and went in without knocking. God I wish I hadn't.
I saw George's back as he was getting in the shower, he just froze as he saw the awe in my face when I stared at his single scar, one single scar in the entirety of his body , it was a huge scar spanning diagonally on his whole back , it was so large it reminded me of video game characters , and so deep I thought it was see-through where the skin met the spine. I just looked at him and he knew, he got a look that was stuck in his face for the rest of the week and just said "Let me finish my shower and I'll explain".
And so he finished , and so he explained , and so I was moved , then I processed what he said and I was devastated , and then I thought about it once more and I started to cry , then he let go and started to cry even more than I did.
It was one of the saddest stories I had ever heard. Until you are 13-16 depending on the person you get no scars from lying, I mean come on who doesn’t lie as a kid. One day you wake up with an already fainted scar across your whole face which goes away in a day or two and that is how you know you now get scars from lying. So George was relatively lucky as he got his initiation scar a couple of weeks after he became sixteen.
When George was 14 his mother got cancer. His 3 years younger sister got cancer too a year later, while his father had died in an accident when George was 9. His mother was given a 60% chance of getting rid of the cancer for good at the beginning with chemotherapy. She didn’t. A month after she learned that her cancer got too spread to be completely stopped, her daughter got cancer too. George said the doctor believed that his mother must have been exposed to radiation when pregnant with his sister else it was just a very tragic coincidence that they both got cancer in such a small time interval with his sister at such a young age.
George’s mother stopped chemotherapy just before he became 15 since the doctor said it wouldn’t help anymore. His sister was never given much chance, a mere 10% that chemotherapy would even do anything.
His mother couldn’t get out of bed just before George turned 16. At the same time the doctor told his sister that chemotherapy couldn’t do anything anymore and that she was giving her about another year and 6 to 8 months in a “good enough” health.
Naturally George and his sister wanted their mother to die knowing her daughter at least would survive. So they thought they’d lie to her, tell her that her daughter was getting better. George learned how to do makeup and helped his sister so she would seem in good health no matter what happened. They told their mum that even though she had gotten past cancer she started paying attention to the details of life and that she wanted to start putting on make up to look better and her being 13 at the time her mother believed her.
And so George kept lying, with a lie that started a few weeks after he got his first scar, he kept saying the same lie to his mother everyday. His mother got worse and so did his sister. His mother died 6 months after George got 16 years old, his sister one month after that, the doctor predicted wrong. The last two months that their mother was alive his sister couldn’t get out of bed and so every day he lied to his mother that his sister had to study , or that she didn’t get a very good grade on a test and didn’t want to disappoint her , or that she went out with friends whenever his mother asked why his sister didn't visit much. On the days his sister was feeling better she put on make-up, gathered all her strength and walked enough to go sit beside her mother’s bed. And so George kept lying so that his mother would die happy, every day for hours each day he lied to his dying mother that his dying sister was well, a few weeks before the end he told her that his sister had gotten fully rid of her tumor while his sister would faint trying to get up and see her mother. And George kept lying even the last few days when his mother could hardly see or talk and asked to see her daughter, so George said that she went abroad in a school program for students good in literature related subjects and she called him to relay her love for her mother to her, while she was in the hospital 20 meters away on the same floor, hanging on to life by a thread. Then his mother died and he couldn’t lie anymore, his sister died and he could hardly feel like he could live anymore.
All that left him with one big scar, the same lie being told over and over and over again devastating him even more each time, killing him inside and out a bit more each time creating a scar that would never heal. Creating a scar that was bigger than anyone I and maybe anyone else living on this godforsaken planet has ever seen. Creating a scar that made every other evil, obstacle or problem seem redundant, turning George into the best person I had ever known, into the best person anyone that met him had ever known.
It’s a mad world , and it’s mad to judge people by their scars , some carry them with sorrow , some with pride , some with regret some with happiness , some only need one , some have none , some can’t seem to get enough.
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This is my first ever prompt , pretty much the first story i've ever written to be honest ( outside of school of course). Feedback is appreciated
Also sorry if it got too sad too fast in the end I was listening to Tears in Heaven by Eric Clapton when I started writing , a very sad song who I only found out about yesterday, worth a listen.
Edit: So I'm done with changes to the story , may edit in the future if I find any spelling or grammar mistakes | She said: "I'm Catholic, and for my first confession we were herded before the priest and told to tell him our sins. At seven years old, I knew I had to make something up or be punished for the sin of Satan, Pride."
That was the only time I couldn't tell the truth so, "'I'm a liar,'" I lied. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | "Mr. Graves, are you certain your client has been telling the truth?" The voice of the judge cut through the room. I glanced up from my papers, and stood up, taking off my gloves and scarf.
The jury panel gasped a little bit when they saw my unscarred face and hands. More than a few looked jealous, but most merely looked impressed. I nodded. Good. I had affixed myself as a person who told the truth in their mind.
My client, meanwhile, was a mass of scars. They marred his face, hands, neck, biceps. A few of them were deep and ugly. He was staring at his handcuffed hands, looking despondent.
I cleared my throat. "Yes, your honor. And I intend to prove not only to you, but to the men and women of the jury that the evidence the state has not does not prove my client's innocence, but that the evidence proves his innocence!"
The jury mumbled amongst themselves as I launched into my opening statement.
---
"Thank you, Mr. Graves," my client said, grinning in my office, wearing his ratty yet comfortable clothes once again. "I thought I'd be locked up for good, but you... you pulled off a miracle. "
I smiled a little, straightening my posture and linking my fingers on the desk. "It wasn't me, Mr. Williams. It was your testimony that made the most compelling argument."
Williams smiled, the scars on his face stretching and distorting.
"Mr. Graves, you're a godsend. I can never thank you enough. I'm going to go and try and pull my life together."
There. A small little slice, right by his ear. It wasn't much, and he didn't notice it, and I didn't stare. No one deserved to be caught, especially in the lies they tell themselves.
Mr. Williams thanked me profusely, continued to make that same promise that tore open that scar a little more each time, then left.
When he was gone, I once again stood in the mirror in my office. I unbuttoned my shirt, allowing myself a wince as I opened the shirt a bit further. Yep, it was still there. The one scar that I had from telling myself the lie. The biggest lie I had ever told, and it was the only reason I was still around.
I took a deep breath, looked myself dead in the mirror, and mouthed the lie to myself.
The pain lanced through me as the scar re-opened once again, starting at my collarbone, opening up through my stomach, curling around my belly button, and immediately soaking my pant leg with blood as it ended somewhere in my inner thigh.
The pain had been enough to knock me out the first time I had told that lie. My parents had rushed me to the hospital. Now, all I did was grunt, set my teeth, and reach for the suture kit on the counter in front of me.
That lie hurt, even more each time I said it. But I had to let myself know I was okay. Even if it was a lie. | I live in a world when you lie you get a scar. The bigger the scar, the worse the lie. I apparently was in an accident a year ago and now I can't remember things that well. So there I am at the store and I see this girl with one extremely large and deep looking scar. I figured I should go ask her what she said because it seems interesting there was only one lie. So I asked her and she said she used to be my wife. She couldn't look me in the eye and she said it was "I love you."
Edit: Yes I know someone else did something similar to this. Just saying before downvotes happen. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | We lived side by side spending our days joined at the hips so much so people thought we were brothers. My skin was covered in them by the time I was 12 while he hadn’t got a single mark yet, I was slightly envious of his clear skin that impressed people for a boy his age. When I asked him how he did it, he simply shrugged and said anything was possible with a slight grin. His vague reply made me more jealous, sure I lied more than most kids my age but most of the lies were petty and insignificant that I didn’t think twice about. Plus, the marks I got didn’t hurt one bit so it just sorta added up after a while.
Then childhood ended and I moved away right before I started high-school. We didn’t really keep in contact with each other like how most kids promise but never do. It wasn’t any different with us, by the time my 20s came around he was just a hazy childhood friend I had all but forgotten about.
It was blistering hot that day, too hot to wear anything but short sleeves and pants. I hated wearing those types of clothes, while most people’s scars were skinny and faded into their skin. Mine had become more gashed and discolored as I grew older, I was one of the unlucky ones whose skin healed badly to these marks. Just genetics they told me.
I was walking back from the bus stop when I saw him in front of me, his clear pale skin devoid of any scars got my attention first before I saw his face. When I looked up at his face that’s when I recognized him, I called out his name and waved slightly at him. His face looked blank for a moment before lighting up in recognition as well. His pasty lips smiled at me and called me over, while we caught up all I could notice was how unblemished his arms and legs looked. Scars usually showed up first on your limbs before covering your whole body.
He must have noticed my gawking and laughed a bit before telling me to not trust your first impressions. I was confused by what he meant, but when I asked he just smiled a bit wider.
“Ben, I was actually kind of happy you were jealous of me when we were younger. In a way, I was just lucky they showed up in places where no one noticed.” He said to me, before turning his back and walking away before I could reply.
I noticed a painful red looking scar peeking out from the back of his neck and drops of red starting to stain his white shirt.
| I live in a world when you lie you get a scar. The bigger the scar, the worse the lie. I apparently was in an accident a year ago and now I can't remember things that well. So there I am at the store and I see this girl with one extremely large and deep looking scar. I figured I should go ask her what she said because it seems interesting there was only one lie. So I asked her and she said she used to be my wife. She couldn't look me in the eye and she said it was "I love you."
Edit: Yes I know someone else did something similar to this. Just saying before downvotes happen. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | We met at a bar one evening. She had a beer in her hand, something local on tap, about half-drained. We struck up some conversation - weather or sports or some such, I don't remember, small talk though. She made some passing comment about liking my ears, and I almost brushed it off as false praise - I think they stick out a bit too much - before I noticed her smooth skin; not a single scar visible.
I had my own fair share of lies cut into my skin - most minor, a few major. Even the bigger ones I'd usually defend, outside of a big one on my arm. "I've been clean for a year!". Even so, that's the least regretful mistake from that part of my life - I'm proud to say I can say that line now without the scar growing larger.
I got her name - Jane - and later, her number. We ended up setting up a date for the following weekend, and hit it off quickly. Similar interests - hiking, video games, cooking... Well, mostly same interests, anyway. I remember her coy smile when I said I liked her Coltrane collection, and a line of skin on my forearm darkened. Can't stand jazz, really.
I thought for about a month that she was perfectly honest, until we went to bed together. Jane seemed reluctant to take off her shirt, but that same honesty that kept her skin smooth must have demanded she not cover up now - her bra came off, and across the inside of her left breast was the deepest scar that I've ever seen. It wasn't a discoloration like most scars - it was like a knotted rope was underneath the skin.
It wasn't the sort of thing you can comment on lightly, but at the same time, it would be more conspicuous to ignore it. She was clearly distressed, waiting for my reaction. I wasn't sure what to say, but we were both naked at that point so there was no hoping that a lie would be covered up by clothing.
"There's obviously a story here, and I'm curious, but... Right now, it's not important. I'm willing to wait until you're willing to tell me on your own terms" I said, and punctuated the sentence with a kiss. She ran a hand through my short hair, and the encounter continued naturally after that. But frankly the details are none of your business.
It was another six months before I learned any more details about that scar of hers. We were quite serious by now, and I'd had plenty of opportunities to see it again at this point.
Jane told me that her parents were going to be coming by for Thanksgiving, and that she wanted me to be there. Her face was strangely tense, and when I pressed for information, she just said that she didn't feel up for explaining. What could I say to that? So, I didn't press the issue, and waited for Thursday to roll around.
Her parents showed up - her mother was a frumpy sort of woman, with a flowery dress, and her father was tall, but had a thick neck and a double chin. I was surprised the two of them could have produced such a beautiful daughter, but all the same I could see some resemblance, particularly in the eyes and nose.
The first thing I heard her father say - before even "hello" - was right after he jerked a thumb in my direction. "Is this that friend of yours? She looks like a fucking dyke." Her mother agreed emphatically. I found myself dumbstruck, unable to respond. Jane laughed uncomfortably, but her father didn't seem to notice - he was sniffing the air.
"Turkey's already on, eh? Surprised you haven't caught yourself a husband yet, with your cooking. Hah!"
"No luck yet, but I'm sure I'll find one one of these days." Jane replied with a weak smile, clearly hiding a wince as the scar above her heart wrought its way deeper into her skin. | I live in a world when you lie you get a scar. The bigger the scar, the worse the lie. I apparently was in an accident a year ago and now I can't remember things that well. So there I am at the store and I see this girl with one extremely large and deep looking scar. I figured I should go ask her what she said because it seems interesting there was only one lie. So I asked her and she said she used to be my wife. She couldn't look me in the eye and she said it was "I love you."
Edit: Yes I know someone else did something similar to this. Just saying before downvotes happen. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | My mind boiled over with thoughts, it raced with many theories and ideas as to what it could be.
What did they do?
What did they lie about?
In this world, for some foresaken reason, god had betrayed his people.
I knew lying was wrong, most of the time.
But for me? Oh no, my mother taught me well, as would any mother would with the markings a lie would give you.
You use your words and your mind. You think before you speak. You work your way around and at some point those markings mean nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
We all had minor scars, we all told small lies here and there, it was over looked most of the time.
You would be given a look of embarrassment and there would be a certain quietness in the room. It would go over looked but everyone still knew when it happened: You lied.
It was blunt. It was a strong odor no one could control. Scars all over our bodies, in odd places that surely made you wonder; Can I trust you?
Trust?
What was trust in this world?
The ones, the pure ones, who had no markings were sat upon a throne.
You were good. You were clean, pure, holy, and surly too good to be true.
But the others? The others with deep scars that showed their past? That showed the history of their mouth and what they had to offer?
It was too much, just the sight of a deep scar was a very dangerous thing to behold.
You wouldn't be trusted, you simply wouldn't be.
It was an automatic detection of you being filthy, a filthy liar.
We would bathe ourselves as children, confessing our sins and screaming out for God to make the markings go away.
We would scrub our bodies until they'd bleed.
We would put on creams and makeup, just to make it disappear.
But the lie would still remain, and you couldn't take it back.
The guilt would make you go mad and the scar would stay forever as a reminder.
When I laid eyes upon this man, this man with the biggest and most deepest scar I had ever seen, I was over the edge with desire to know.
Frantically twitching and trying to ease my way into a conversation with the young male, my efforts seemed worthless as I could tell he knew, his blank facial expression made a statement to fuck off.
Right before I took a breath and spared a few words, I dwelled in my cowardness and froze.
"What do you want?" he asked.
And at that moment, that exact moment, was when I got my biggest scar.
"Nothing". | I live in a world when you lie you get a scar. The bigger the scar, the worse the lie. I apparently was in an accident a year ago and now I can't remember things that well. So there I am at the store and I see this girl with one extremely large and deep looking scar. I figured I should go ask her what she said because it seems interesting there was only one lie. So I asked her and she said she used to be my wife. She couldn't look me in the eye and she said it was "I love you."
Edit: Yes I know someone else did something similar to this. Just saying before downvotes happen. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | It was the middle of the January, one of the better times to lie if you had to. In the cold winter months, you could get away with hiding your secrets under an oversized, baggy sweater. There just enough snow in the air that to make the sky seem to sparkle, but it was nothing compared to the sparkle in her piercing green eyes when they first made contact with mine. I swear, it was love at first sight.
Her hair was close cut, its raven black color a stark contrast to the white world which framed it. Her cheeks and nose had a splash of red from the cold. Fuzzy earmuffs, slightly oversized on her head, enveloped her ears. The cold steam of her breath escaped in short bursts from thin, pursed lips. She turned toward me a bit, wrapping her puffy red coat snugly around her body and drawing her arms over her chest for warmth. Skinny black jeans, the kind that showed off just enough of her curves, ran down into pristine white boots, the soles of which were almost obscured by the thin layer of snow on the ground.
In short, she was perfect.
Before I realized what I was doing, I hid my hands in my coat pockets self-consciously. I cursed myself for not having the foresight to wear gloves. Most of mine show up on my hands, and seeing all of them up front tends to give people the wrong first impression. See, the Scars have something of a twisted sense of humor. You tell a lie about some action you've taken, you get a scar on your arms or hands; tell a lie about somewhere you've been, you get a scar on your legs or feet; tell a lie about what you think, you get a scar somewhere on your head. Medical experts have been studying the scars for as far back as anyone can remember, but the best science can tell us is that they just... happen. For all science knows, the world could be home to legions of overly vigilant, painfully ironic fairies wielding pocket knives.
Gathering my courage, I unzipped my coat and started walking in her direction. I nearly stopped myself and turned away a couple of times, but I'd promised myself long ago to always be truthful to my feelings. Nonetheless, I stalled awkwardly when I came close. Her green eyes watching me, the smell of her perfume drifting over to me, the cold wind blowing against my shirt...
I took a deep breath. I probably looked like an idiot. But, now was not the time to panic. I laid my heart out on the line, in more ways than one. I told her she was one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen, and that if she would allow me the opportunity, I wanted to take her somewhere special. That might seem a bit direct, but it helps your case a lot when a girl can simply watch your chest to see if your feelings are genuine. Sure enough, no bloodstain appeared. She looked down at the snowy ground, her cheeks growing even more red in the cold weather.
"Alright," she said, her lips teasing into a slight smile. "What did you have in mind?"
Good question. What did I have in mind?
We ended up in a nearby restaurant, though I can't for the life of me remember how. I got really lucky is probably the best answer. As we took our seats in the booth, she took off her outer jacket, revealing a white sweater underneath. I didn't think anything of it at first.
Slowly, as if unsure of herself, she unzipped the sweater too and pulled it down her arms, not fully off but not quite on either. Beneath it, she was wearing a rather tight shirt which revealed her slender arms and the fair skin of her midriff. I was caught completely off-guard by her drastic change of apparel. She shivered a bit and rubber her shoulders.
I sat there speechless, transfixed by her beauty. Her skin was so... perfect. Not a single scar marred her arms, her stomach, her neck, or anything. I realized I must have been staring, and turned a way just a bit too quickly.
"It's okay," she said softly, pulling her coat back on. "I wanted you to see that, since... I mean, you were so up front with me and... but not in a bad way, and... I guess I could've just told you outright..." She stared at the table a bit too pointedly.
I smiled to myself. At least I wasn't the only one who was bad at this.
...
That was three years ago, back when life was so much simpler. Back before the diagnosis, before the painful treatments which dragged on into weeks and then months. Before we learned about the cancer that was eating away, slowly but surely, at her brain.
The doctors told us nothing could be done. They could treat her, give her drugs to ease the suffering and ultimately the transition, but she was never going to get better. They said she would be... gone... within a few months. I stared at them like a hawk as they spoke, scrutinizing every inch of skin as I processed each sentence, but no Scars came. It was the truth.
We were both left to ask why it had to be her.
She grew irritable and lashed out, though I could hardly blame her. They said it was pressing on her brain, altering her mood and her thoughts. I'm not ashamed to admit that I bawled my eyes out when I first heard the news. But I had to be strong, I had to keep going. I had to be a rock, no matter how hard that would be.
As her time in the hospital grew, so did the doses they gave her. On one of her worse nights, I sat there with her as she tried to process all the built up frustration. I could see in her eyes that she didn't fully recognize me, a look I would never grow used to.
With no other outlet, she turned it on me.
"Why did this have to happen?" she suddenly screamed at me, choking back a sob. Tears streamed down her cheeks. "I... I hate you!"
For a moment, neither of us said anything. We sat in near silence, interrupted only by the occasional sob. I watched her somberly, not daring to react. And that's when I saw it.
A large pool of blood soaked into her hospital gown, just above her heart. The only Scar she would ever have.
...
Thanks for reading!
-ShutainzuGeito | I live in a world when you lie you get a scar. The bigger the scar, the worse the lie. I apparently was in an accident a year ago and now I can't remember things that well. So there I am at the store and I see this girl with one extremely large and deep looking scar. I figured I should go ask her what she said because it seems interesting there was only one lie. So I asked her and she said she used to be my wife. She couldn't look me in the eye and she said it was "I love you."
Edit: Yes I know someone else did something similar to this. Just saying before downvotes happen. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | "Anything else?" the waitress asked me, as she smacked a cup of coffee on the table somewhat carelessly. I think her name was Darla. I shook my head a bit and watched her saunter back to the counter out of the corner of my eye. I knew she had judged me from the moment she saw me. She had given me the same look most everyone else does. It's funny how someone marked and nicked with little white scars on her hands and arms and neck and legs can look down on me for having more of them. To be fair to - whatever her name was... - Darla- ...to be fair to Darla, and to everyone else, I do have lots and lots of little scars. I looked out to the window to my right at a lamp post that illuminated the darkened streets. This was as asleep as the city gets at night.
I started my scar collection as a kid. My mother meant well and might've been a decent parent if she didn't spend her days swigging vodka. My dad was never in the picture. A military man, apparently, who had to move to a base in Europe before I was born, although looking back I'm sure that wasn't true. My mother, now she had a lot of scars. A scar for every time she was going to quit drinking and "do right by me."
The first scar I remember scratching its way onto my skin was when I was probably four or five. My teacher had asked me if I was going to be ok. My mother hadn't come to pick me up which was a semi-frequent event, and I had gotten up to walk home - I lived a 20-minute walk or so away from the school so it wasn't a problem for me. He asked me if I was going to have dinner at home, and I lied. I told him we were having company over and my mom probably just lost track of time cooking this big meal for us all. I don't even know why I lied about it because it was a pointless lie, but I felt the sting on the back of my shoulder as the words left my lips.
Over the years the lies I told people, the lies I told my mother created a tapestry of scar tissue across my body. Sometimes I just wanted to get away from the house and I'd tell her I was staying with a friend. The marks were inconsequential to me.
I'm a journalist now - a failed one - there's no use lying to you. It's funny really because none of my scars ever came from anything I've ever written. I'm stupid; I use my lies on bullshit, instead of making money.
I looked down at my coffee and heard Darla telling a couple large patrons at the counter that she was planning on going back to school soon. I wondered if she got a scar for that or if she really meant it. It didn't really matter to me. I'm not interested in the lies people tell others. That's easy. It's recorded in the history of your body like the rings of a tree and even though they fade over time, more will always take their place - we can't help ourselves. No, what interests me are the lies people tell themselves. When people put makeup over their scars to cover up as many as they can, do they look into the mirror and pretend they are honest?
A bell rang as the door opened. I glanced to my left and saw a young man walk in. And I froze.
"Go ahead and sit where you'd like," Darla yelled out cheerily. "I'll be with you in just a sec."
The newcomer walked towards a back booth, and my eyes stayed fixed on him the entire time. His skin was unmarred by any scar or blemish. I had looked over his face and neck and forearms, and not a mark there was on them. Bullshit. Everyone lies. That is the only consistent truth I have ever known, and I've known that as far back as my memory extends. Everyone is a liar - that is a universal truth. It's the universal truth. I found myself rising out of my seat. My feet carried me towards the man in the back, quickening with each step. My heart pounded.
"Let me see your arms," I managed to squeeze out as I gripped his arm and turned it. My voice was nervous. I quickly jumped to the other arms and hurriedly looked it over. I rubbed his arm spastically to remove any makeup - but there was nothing. I looked up at his face. His eyes were those of a deer's caught in a headlight. What I was doing was crazy, I knew that. I had grabbed a random stranger but he couldn't be this honest. It wasn't possible.
"Where are your scars?" I demanded. He was still taken aback. "Where are they?" I repeated a little more forcefully.
"I- what scars?" he stammered out.
I felt a surge of anger rise up in me.
"Where are your fucking scars!" I yelled at the man and grabbed his shirt at his shoulders. His shocked silence only made me angrier. In an instant, I whipped his shirt up and dumbfoundedly stepped back. The entire front of his torso was one giant mass of scarred flesh.
"How are they all there?" I breathed out. "That can't be from one lie..."
He looked hurt.
"There was an accident," he said dejectedly.
"Bullshit!" I shot back. That was a lie everyone with an exceptional scar tried to get away with. That it wasn't from a lie, but some physical injury instead. I'd heard that one before. Sometimes a new mark was worth keeping the truth in the dark. But there was no new mark. I scanned over his body.
"How did that happen?"
"It was an accident!" he retorted, anger now growing in his voice. "There was a fire in my building! People died...and I was lucky enough to only be left with this at the end of the night."
I looked over his body and watched as no new scars carved their way in. He threw his shirt back down and was clearly angry now. I stepped backward. The diner was silent. I could feel everyone's eyes on me. The man I accosted threw some money on the table and slid out of his booth. He moved passed me and I watched as the only honest man I had ever known walked out of the door. I was brought crashing back down to reality. I glanced towards the counter and saw the two patrons and the waitress staring at me. I walked back to my table and left some money there before walking out the door. I made it a few steps down the sidewalk before my legs went weak. I sat down on the curb and cried.
It was only six months later when I saw the man's face again. This time on the news. His name was Robert Lewis, and he had been arrested for arson. He had set a fire in his apartment building that apparently grew out of control and wound up killing six people and sending dozens more to the hospital. He had been found there lying in the smoke by first responders. But here's the kicker. He hadn't suffered any burns when they found him. That scar only appeared after he had been questioned about the fire by a couple other firefighters before the cops even spoke to him. It took them a couple weeks to realize what happened and then months to find the guy.
Everyone is a liar. He was just better at telling half truths.
Edit: Grammatical | I live in a world when you lie you get a scar. The bigger the scar, the worse the lie. I apparently was in an accident a year ago and now I can't remember things that well. So there I am at the store and I see this girl with one extremely large and deep looking scar. I figured I should go ask her what she said because it seems interesting there was only one lie. So I asked her and she said she used to be my wife. She couldn't look me in the eye and she said it was "I love you."
Edit: Yes I know someone else did something similar to this. Just saying before downvotes happen. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | It's a mad world
Nowadays you are asked to take your clothes off in a job interview for god's sake, even in court in some countries, I mean come on sometimes you actually need to lie goddamnit sometimes it actually does some real good but it literally scars you for life...
I have my fair number of scars, mostly very light ones , I can take my shirt off when I go to the beach without most of them showing , heck I can have sex with a girl and they won't notice most, the more necessary you felt that the lie was the better hidden the scar is, so most of mine are in addition to very light on ... convenient spots. I have scars on the back of my thighs, I have two behind my ears, I have some on my armpits . I once heard of a guy who had one on his penis , it turns out how you feel about the lie makes a huge difference in what scar it will leave you and where, just imagine that guy getting undressed in front of a woman , or man whatever he is into anyway. Well at least some girls say scars are sexy, or so I’ve heard.
You do get used to it but still... I once had a pretty long conversation with a war veteran about scars , now that was scarring. He took he shirt off to show me his body he was FULL. I first noticed two bullets scars , didn't think I could recognize them but damn do they look different. The bullet scars though , they were nice compared to the rest , they were in battle defending his country but the rest of his body was more scar tissue than actual skin, there were spots where I couldn't even make out how many scars he had. They formed one big pile of butchered up skin. During our conversation I found out that he actually got all the visible scars he had on his upper body in a single week , he was taken as a prisoner of war and trust me , the only countries that actually give even a single flying fuck about the Geneva convention are the ones that have already won the war. Long story short , pretty much all the scars were from the lies he told trying to lead the enemies away while they were torturing him instead of giving them real information , it's mad how they can torture you into treachery without leaving a scar on your body. It is true though , EVERYONE breaks given enough time.
The war veteran story is my go-to example on why we shouldn't judge people by their scars. There is a whole other story that I just can't get myself to tell. Too goddamn sad , well probably not so when you just hear it as a story but you were not there talking with him you did not see the sorrow and the chaos on his face.
His name was George. In my country he have to serve in the military , mandatory service . The military of course is purely defensive and the service is easier than professional militaries naturally. George was pretty much the nicest guy we all knew , he would never even lie. There had been a few occasions where others were mad at him because he would tell our officers about anything they asked and being the military there were consequences , he really , actually never lied. We also noticed after a couple of months that even though most would get out of bath completely naked since we were only men, he would get in and out always wearing a t-shirt, and whenever he had to change his t-shirt without taking a bath he hid, went to the bathroom or was alone someway. We all wondered but we thought that he just lied without us noticing and wanted to hide his scars , all the others still believe that but I know.
George and I became friends over time. We would go out for a drink , we would even go to the gym or for a run together sometimes. The park where we run was closer to his home so one day when it started raining he told me to come take a shower at his place, he'd lend me some clothes and drive me home. He let me get in to take a shower first. I got in finished my shower and got out, he went in right after me. Seconds after he got in I realized a left my shoes in the bathroom and I sweat a lot so my shoes get smelly so I wanted to get them to the balcony. Being used to it from my service, who we had both finished some months prior to that day, where we didn't really care if someone saw us naked I just opened the door and went in without knocking. God I wish I hadn't.
I saw George's back as he was getting in the shower, he just froze as he saw the awe in my face when I stared at his single scar, one single scar in the entirety of his body , it was a huge scar spanning diagonally on his whole back , it was so large it reminded me of video game characters , and so deep I thought it was see-through where the skin met the spine. I just looked at him and he knew, he got a look that was stuck in his face for the rest of the week and just said "Let me finish my shower and I'll explain".
And so he finished , and so he explained , and so I was moved , then I processed what he said and I was devastated , and then I thought about it once more and I started to cry , then he let go and started to cry even more than I did.
It was one of the saddest stories I had ever heard. Until you are 13-16 depending on the person you get no scars from lying, I mean come on who doesn’t lie as a kid. One day you wake up with an already fainted scar across your whole face which goes away in a day or two and that is how you know you now get scars from lying. So George was relatively lucky as he got his initiation scar a couple of weeks after he became sixteen.
When George was 14 his mother got cancer. His 3 years younger sister got cancer too a year later, while his father had died in an accident when George was 9. His mother was given a 60% chance of getting rid of the cancer for good at the beginning with chemotherapy. She didn’t. A month after she learned that her cancer got too spread to be completely stopped, her daughter got cancer too. George said the doctor believed that his mother must have been exposed to radiation when pregnant with his sister else it was just a very tragic coincidence that they both got cancer in such a small time interval with his sister at such a young age.
George’s mother stopped chemotherapy just before he became 15 since the doctor said it wouldn’t help anymore. His sister was never given much chance, a mere 10% that chemotherapy would even do anything.
His mother couldn’t get out of bed just before George turned 16. At the same time the doctor told his sister that chemotherapy couldn’t do anything anymore and that she was giving her about another year and 6 to 8 months in a “good enough” health.
Naturally George and his sister wanted their mother to die knowing her daughter at least would survive. So they thought they’d lie to her, tell her that her daughter was getting better. George learned how to do makeup and helped his sister so she would seem in good health no matter what happened. They told their mum that even though she had gotten past cancer she started paying attention to the details of life and that she wanted to start putting on make up to look better and her being 13 at the time her mother believed her.
And so George kept lying, with a lie that started a few weeks after he got his first scar, he kept saying the same lie to his mother everyday. His mother got worse and so did his sister. His mother died 6 months after George got 16 years old, his sister one month after that, the doctor predicted wrong. The last two months that their mother was alive his sister couldn’t get out of bed and so every day he lied to his mother that his sister had to study , or that she didn’t get a very good grade on a test and didn’t want to disappoint her , or that she went out with friends whenever his mother asked why his sister didn't visit much. On the days his sister was feeling better she put on make-up, gathered all her strength and walked enough to go sit beside her mother’s bed. And so George kept lying so that his mother would die happy, every day for hours each day he lied to his dying mother that his dying sister was well, a few weeks before the end he told her that his sister had gotten fully rid of her tumor while his sister would faint trying to get up and see her mother. And George kept lying even the last few days when his mother could hardly see or talk and asked to see her daughter, so George said that she went abroad in a school program for students good in literature related subjects and she called him to relay her love for her mother to her, while she was in the hospital 20 meters away on the same floor, hanging on to life by a thread. Then his mother died and he couldn’t lie anymore, his sister died and he could hardly feel like he could live anymore.
All that left him with one big scar, the same lie being told over and over and over again devastating him even more each time, killing him inside and out a bit more each time creating a scar that would never heal. Creating a scar that was bigger than anyone I and maybe anyone else living on this godforsaken planet has ever seen. Creating a scar that made every other evil, obstacle or problem seem redundant, turning George into the best person I had ever known, into the best person anyone that met him had ever known.
It’s a mad world , and it’s mad to judge people by their scars , some carry them with sorrow , some with pride , some with regret some with happiness , some only need one , some have none , some can’t seem to get enough.
.
This is my first ever prompt , pretty much the first story i've ever written to be honest ( outside of school of course). Feedback is appreciated
Also sorry if it got too sad too fast in the end I was listening to Tears in Heaven by Eric Clapton when I started writing , a very sad song who I only found out about yesterday, worth a listen.
Edit: So I'm done with changes to the story , may edit in the future if I find any spelling or grammar mistakes | I live in a world when you lie you get a scar. The bigger the scar, the worse the lie. I apparently was in an accident a year ago and now I can't remember things that well. So there I am at the store and I see this girl with one extremely large and deep looking scar. I figured I should go ask her what she said because it seems interesting there was only one lie. So I asked her and she said she used to be my wife. She couldn't look me in the eye and she said it was "I love you."
Edit: Yes I know someone else did something similar to this. Just saying before downvotes happen. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | My deepest cut? Easy. Upper right hip, curving from almost my navel to my asscrack. It's an unusual, but fortunately concealed, spot for me; usually I'm an arm guy, so my parents always dressed me in tshirts, for conveniences sake when asking if I'd done my homework. You'd think they'd have figured it out, after I was held back a grade...
But this chick. Now, I'm a man who knows what I like. Short, curly hair, sundresses, enough scars to show a wild side, few enough scars that I know I won't get a 'git-scar. Happened to one of my buddies once; after his girlfriend found out his "I'm not cheating on you" mark was hidden under his beard, she cut more than hair in taking it off. I told him dating a girl with skin textured like prairie grass was bad news, but he just couldn't resist the crazies. Birds of a feather, I suppose...
But back to this girl. She had it all. The dress. The hair. The... scar. Some chicks hide them, some showcase them. She was a shower, and damn, did she have a lot to show. The dress had to be custom tailored, for it framed and flattered the deep colors of the scar along her back perfectly. But other than that... flawless. Already I longed to stroke her smooth arms, kiss her milky neck, lift up her already short dress...
I approached, and distracted by the juxtaposition of beauty and destruction, went with the lamest, most common of openings. I gestured towards her. "That's quite the display. Is it 'git?"
Her laughter, as expected, sounded like the tinkling of bells. "But of course it's legit!" she said. "It was a tragic accident..." she looked solemn, for a moment, as if getting lost in a painful memory, but then her smile, refreshing as a spring shower, returned. "Though of course, that might not be the case. After all, I only ever speak in lies." | I live in a world when you lie you get a scar. The bigger the scar, the worse the lie. I apparently was in an accident a year ago and now I can't remember things that well. So there I am at the store and I see this girl with one extremely large and deep looking scar. I figured I should go ask her what she said because it seems interesting there was only one lie. So I asked her and she said she used to be my wife. She couldn't look me in the eye and she said it was "I love you."
Edit: Yes I know someone else did something similar to this. Just saying before downvotes happen. | |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | You want to know how I got these scars?
Well, for one thing they aren’t ‘scars’, if you look closely you’ll see it’s one continuous scar that travels around my face, neck, down my body, all around wrapping itself around my arms, legs, fingers and toes.
The only part of my body that isn’t scarred tissue is the inside of my body and even a bit of my mouth is still scarred.
So the correct question you want to ask is how did I get this scar?
Singular.
Well, you know that old saying? About how a girl likes a guy with scars? It shows they’re a bad boy, that they kick a lot of ass or in my case lie.
I didn’t kick anyone’s ass or get into a big crash, I lied.
That’s pretty much what happened.
I suppose you’ll want specifics.
Well, years ago back when I was unblemished, face filled with pimples and a voice that didn’t quite want to go low I had a crush on a girl.
A pretty girl, one that seemed to really like me with not a scar on her body as far as I could tell! So when she told me she loved me I believed her totally and without reservation.
We went out, kissed and eventually I did find she had scars. I won’t share the details of how I found out but I’m sure your imagination can fill in the blanks. Anyways, her scars, they were here and there. Small ones mostly with two or three medium sized ones. I asked her about them and she told me she didn’t want to talk about them. She seemed ashamed.
I wanted to tell her that she was human, that everyone had scars.
Then she looked at me and asked if I had any?
Well, I didn’t but I didn’t want her to feel bad so I said yes.
Next thing I knew I felt something scratch my arm and there it was. A scar.
Now that should’ve been the end of that but here’s the weird thing. It then sorta vanished. Then came back twice as bad as it realized I was sorta telling the truth but lying at the same time.
It couldn’t decide what to do.
So it just kept going.
So here I was with my girlfriend in front of me with my eyes wide in horror as the scar kept scratching me, fading and growing again. By the time it all stopped I was still screaming. Honestly I had no idea when I started.
And now we’re married.
| I live in a world when you lie you get a scar. The bigger the scar, the worse the lie. I apparently was in an accident a year ago and now I can't remember things that well. So there I am at the store and I see this girl with one extremely large and deep looking scar. I figured I should go ask her what she said because it seems interesting there was only one lie. So I asked her and she said she used to be my wife. She couldn't look me in the eye and she said it was "I love you."
Edit: Yes I know someone else did something similar to this. Just saying before downvotes happen. |
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