The Last Lie

Be true to yourself. Faking it will only end up hurting you and everyone you're faking it for

The Last Lie

 

 

 

What have I done?

 

I’m sitting in this empty room - white walls, stucco ceiling, wood floors - full of boxes still needing unpacked. The only furniture, besides the stool I am sitting on, is the massive, drawer-less dresser sitting in the middle of the floor, her dresser. It looks skeletal sitting there stripped to its bare frame, like a shell of what it should be; perhaps that emptiness is what drew me to it. Perhaps, that’s why I’d been sitting here, staring into the mirror mounted on its back all morning.  Empty, but still able to project the image it was given, as it was expected to; still able to keep appearances. I’ve always hated this dresser.

 

What have I done?

 

I sit on the stool, looking at him. Where did he come from? I mean... I understand where he is coming from now, but where did he come from in the first place? And how had he known to come?

 

I just stare at him.

It was just us, now.

 

He is supposed to be me. He is supposed to be nothing more than my own light, fed to the glass and silver and shown back to me.  But how can that be? Look at him. He’s young, he’s handsome; sure he looks tired, but he does not look weary, does not look fatigued, does not look as though life itself is becoming a burden too heavy for him to bear. Look at him; nice teeth, glowing skin, cute hair. He looks like he’s ready to take on the world - perhaps first he’d take on a toothbrush and a cup of coffee, but then the world.

He is supposed to be me? This man, in his universe of silver and glass, was born of my light? How is that even possible when I have no more light to give? My light is dying, has been  for years, it could not satiate the hunger of the mirror to produce such a pristine image. Yet, he is supposed to be me, or better yet, I am supposed to be him.

I’d like to blame him; his smiles, his joy, his energy. I’d like to say that those things are what had gotten me here, but he had only done what I’d asked him to do, what I’d done so long and couldn’t do anymore. I invited him in, instructed him, and watched idly as he fooled the people in my life as I once had.

All I wanted was to hide my pain from them. I wanted to spare them from having to know what I was going through, what I was feeling. I wanted to spare her especially. I still do. I’d dug myself into this happy hole. I could’ve avoided it early on with honesty, but instead started living this charade. So now what could I do? Tell them the truth after years of lies?

 

I’m sorry, but I don’t love you, I don’t know if I ever really did. I didn’t want to hurt you, I still don’t want to hurt you, but living this lie is eating me away inside. It’s killing me. I can’t do it anymore.

 

I couldn’t do that. Not now. It wouldn’t just hurt her, it would hurt them all. No, I put myself into this and now I just have to deal. But dealing was becoming all the more painful - the fake smiles, the fake cheer - it was all becoming too heavy, and I was cracking under the load.

Now, I had to let him do it.

He came in and began to give everyone the feigned smile I could no longer deliver. The lies, the look, the life; they all killed me inside, slowly sucked from my light, but everyone else was happy. I was sparing them all the pain of knowing the truth, or perhaps I was sparing myself from having to watch their pain. Either way, he played his role well.

 

“How excited are you, Hon? Our own place!” I remember hearing her say to him one day while sitting on his lap.

 

“It’s wonderful, Babe,” he lied. “I can’t wait to finally start our lives together.”

 

While I wept, he looked her in the eyes and smiled.

It was the most perfect smile I’d ever seen.

 

“OK, Hon! You love me?”

 

I was going to tell her the truth Right then, I was going to do it. I was going to apologize for all the years of lying and just come clean. I just hadn’t wanted to hurt you, but I can’t go through with this. I can’t give my whole life to you on this pretense of love that doesn’t exist and maybe never did!

That’s what I was going to say, but his resolve was stronger than mine. He did not stray from his assignment.

 

“Of course I do, Babe.”

 

He was good.  That’s why I had needed him, that’s why he’d come. The happy face, and the lies that were becoming like load of lead to me, he could easily handle. He knew the cost of the truth; he knew that it would ease no pain, only transfer it, and if either she or I had to bear it, then it was I that deserved it. That it was why I now sat in this empty room, gazing at him through this barrier of glass, asking myself one question.

 

What have I done?

 

“You OK, Hon?”

 

I turned to the doorway where she stood, a concerned look on her face. I turned back to him for help, but I had temporarily trapped him in his prison of silver and glass. He could not help me now.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I muttered to the floor.

 

“Why are you just sitting there in your underwear, staring at the mirror like a weirdo?”

 

“Uh, I don’t know, just tired I guess,” I said through a forced half-grin. “Just zoning out, or something.”

 

“Um, OK,” she said through a small giggle. “Well I’ll be downstairs unpacking, come down when you get a little more awake. Love you.”

 

I simply nodded and grinned. I didn’t have it in me to tell another lie; I had told my last.

 

I looked back toward him with envy. It was so easy for him to wear this guise of happiness, he didn’t have to feel the pain that came with it.

Why can’t I be stronger? I say I lie to spare them, to spare her, but have I spared anyone? Or have I just trapped us all in this downward  spiral of an empty loveless life, full of resentment and self-loathing. Have I really spared anyone?

 

It doesn’t matter, I though as I used the razor to trace the big blue vein in my arm from wrist to shoulder.

 

Now we are all freed.

 

And as my head lie down on the dresser, watching the beautiful, crimson falls, flow away from my body, he reached down and began to softly stroking my face. Lovingly.

 

I smiled.

And for the first time that I can remember…

 

It was weightless

Author's Note

Sorry this got a little longer than expected. If you notice any out of place quotation marks from the stupid glitch, let me know :)

This was partially inspired by a message I sent to London and JoshuaDeathdealer encouraging them to work together on a poem. I said to them "It'd be so dark and sad I'd probably slit my wrists right at the desk, but it'd be so good I'd die smiling" which put an image in my head I had to explore.

PS
if anyone can find a better picture LET ME KNOW haha

Enjoy! ^_^

Reviews

[lostboy]

we all live in a much greater light than our own ..a light that makes ours a shadow when we look in a mirror we see a reflection when we look in our heart what do we see ? i say the truth from the start is still the best ..if for no other reason than it causes less pain.

[Ashli The Amazing]

wow that was really good i really enjoyed it ^_^ kinda surprised at the end though. job well done!

[EdgeOfDark]

Uh, Damn ... that was quite dark and horrifyingly excellent. Your use of punctuation is masterful, and your characterizations were evocative, hard, and real. I really like the device of the mirror and the other person within it. Very good imagery and imaginative ... a cold trip through the realities of Truth and Lies. Quite macabre. Well done, TJ!

[TM "Ree" Tate]

Excellent! I like the way you wrote this...it all meshes together perfectly...sounds like the beginning or ending of a book I'd enjoy reading

[November Gold]

That was Fantastic to read! I mean it was dark and sad and depressing, but it was so brilliantly put together that I can't help but be joyful about it too! Wonderful writing!

[sarah]

Nicely written! you are most defiantly talented great story!

[Maggie]

I think this is flipping awesome!!!!

[Morgan]

I absolutely love this piece. The way that you have him comparing himself to this dresser that is nothing more than a shell of its former self is brilliant. He is so consumed with keeping up appearances that he has lost himself completely, and feels nothing but emptiness. It made me want to cry because his hopelessness was so profound, and when he sought relief the only way he could think of, well it was somehow beautiful because he was finally free. Amazing work here, makes you think about how easy it can be to sacrifice who you really are just to keep everyone around you happy.

[Coyote Poetry]

A powerful story. A lot of emotion and question came to life after reading this poem.
"He is supposed to be me. He is supposed to be nothing more than my own light, fed to the glass and silver and shown back to me. "
Hard to understand life. Sometime must dance on razor blades to learn you are alive. Thank you for a excellent poem.
Coyote

[Victoria PoetryBunny]

love the title and great picture to go along with it for the story;
i love how you started off this story, loved this part:
"It looks skeletal sitting there stripped to its bare frame, like a shell of what it should be; perhaps that emptiness is what drew me to it. Perhaps, that’s why I’d been sitting here, staring into the mirror mounted on its back all morning. Empty, but still able to project the image it was given, as it was expected to; still able to keep appearances. I’ve always hated this dresser."
i like how you used this question: "What have I done?"
I like how you said this:
"He is supposed to be me. He is supposed to be nothing more than my own light, fed to the glass and silver and shown back to me. "
I like how you wrote this line:
"My light is dying, has been for years, it could not satiate the hunger of the mirror to produce such a pristine image."
and this:
" I was sparing them all the pain of knowing the truth, or perhaps I was sparing myself from having to watch their pain."
I like how you use the mirror so greatly in this story.
" I turned back to him for help, but I had temporarily trapped him in his prison of silver and glass. He could not help me now."
And getting powerful and yet sad at the end i loved how you wrote it.
This part here:
"I looked back toward him with envy. It was so easy for him to wear this guise of happiness, he didn’t have to feel the pain that came with it."
and this part hit me, sad; feeling the feelings as the person in this story almost...
"I used the razor to trace the big blue vein in my arm from wrist to shoulder."
deep emotion seems like, really great story, nice ending.
In your Author's Note i can see how you got your idea because what you wrote in the message is quite creative, that happens to me too sometimes, writing something and then thinking how it can be used further as inspiration. Really good. :D

[Butterfly Ninja :3]

Love it I have nothing else to say :)