The truths

Second volume of The Lies

There once was a girl. I couldn't have told you at the time whether she died or not. But I knew she existed.

She came home late at night from school, ate dinner with her parents, her young sister, and when she was done. She sat at her desk, in this little chamber; and she wrote.

She wrote the lies she was telling herself and every truth she didn't want to admit to others. She wrote of her world and its people, of fake names from real stories.

The last thing she wrote was called "Deuil" and it is funny because right after that, she died. And I thought she did. I believed it so much that I forgot that girl who wrote stories of truths made of lies, hidden in a computer opened to the world.

What I didn't know at the time, is that she had never died. She only stayed buried, breathing under the amount of earth and rot I had put her under. Unreal Unearth.

I musn't have hidden her that well, because she came back. With a knife and tears of blood, she carved her way open from my belly, hungry, famished, hoping for something to tear down and feed herself with it. She only found me.