Bury A Friend :Part 1

The Art of Lying

I've learned my way around lies from an early age.

Telling fibs at the age of four had become second nature to me.

Harmless white lies that get my brother into trouble for something I did.

Or even completely making up some ludicrous scenario that would leave my mother breathe less from laughing at my attempt.

At the age of eight of would learn to mix lies with a sprinkle of truth. Making them more convincing and less easy to scrutinize.

At the age of ten I would always make sure to look an adult in their eyes whenever I lied.

Unwavering they would be adults always try to challenge children with their authoritative gaze.

Wolf dynamics they intune themselves with. Alphas always hold the highest gaze.

And the moment you look down you lose.

I often challenged this always looking up no matter what as the mix of words labeled with truth and lie pour from my mouth.

Whenever I finished I would keep the gaze and matching up to their eyes until they closed endearingly and a  "okay I believe you" would fly from their lips.

At the age of twelve I would only give answers expected of me. Never revealing more than I knew. I wasnt necessarily being deceitful but I wasnt exactly being truthful either.

I never gave out the full story.

Choosing to omit certain details for sake of myself and others.

I found myself using this quite often.

Especially for her.

At the age twelve she would own a parakeet.

A cute little thing it was as it was just the size of her palm with a chubby blue belly and black and white stripes adorned at the side of his head.

I would meet him just after week she got it.

A week after that the bird would die.

Her father seemed more displeased than shocked to hear the news.

Almost as if he expected it.

He would later ask me alone what happened to her bird.

And I would tell him the" truth".

The conversation started slow.

He would ask typical adult to child questions such as "how are you doing in school ?" Or "Have you done anything fun recently?"

To those questions I would answer"great"and "not really" keeping my tone leveled in fear my voice would betray how nervous I really was around him.

You see her dad was a very imadating and stoic man.

A pure bread Japanese man in his late thirties. With salt and pepper hair always combed back without a single piece out of place.

Unlike the typical japanese man he build was more stocky. A statuesque man with the height of 6,3 and shoulders that rivled rambos.

She had once mentioned that her father used to do kickboxing throughout highschool all th way until college.

Which greatly contributed to overbearing stature.

Despite his over presence being one that no one can actually look over.

The thing that stood out the most about him were his eyes.