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Write a story about a pathological liar.

Posted in Dark on Oct 31, 2022

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✍️ 36 stories

The Liar

Shortlisted for Contest #156 ⭐️

(Trigger: Death)“How you feelin’?” you ask as you adjust the pillows behind Astrid’s tiny five-year-old head. You try to reposition her frail body upright to help drain the excess secretions from her nose and throat. She grimaces. You force a smile.“I heard Santa is visiting today,” you say as you turn the almost-empty IV pump to hold, hang the new bag on the pole taking the stopper off, remove the tubing from the old bag and insert the tubing into the new bag.You see Astrid’s eyes light up. “He is?” she asks, her eyes lighting up with a hin...

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Pants on Fire

Shortlisted for Contest #156 ⭐️

    The first time she made me do it was the day after Mama died. That shiny black car stirred up a cloud of dust when it skidded across our dirt driveway. Daddy was nowhere to be found and hadn’t been around for weeks. Anyway, even if he had been there he wouldn’t have done much good. He never did.       Before the red dust cloud settled and even before that wheezing woman with the hairy mole got out of the car, my sister, Julie, had me cornered and fully educated on the art of fibbing. She ...

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Baphomet

Submitted to Contest #156

I sense his presence before I ever lay eyes on him.It doesn't surprise me, really. Baph is the type of entity who always enters announced.He is the syncopated tap of stiletto heels that echoes across a tile floor.A whiff of musk that rides the air till it finds your inhale.Double doors that open with intention.The crescendo of the music.And now, that announced entrance is staring at me from across a crowded lobby, smiling that sinful smile he knows will make me tremble.I know better than to look away, but I do. Which gives him the advantage....

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I Am Not A Liar.

Submitted to Contest #156

I am not a liar. That’s the truth.Well, I mean, in all honesty, we do all tell little lies, little fibs, half-truths, or omissions. But those aren’t real lies. They don’t make you a liar.You know what I mean; when you tell a girl her dress looks well, or that she hasn’t put on weight, or that you’re still attracted to them. Those little white lies don’t count. There’s lots of different types of lies too. Sure, look at my tinder profile for example. It’s not exactly the most accurate representation of myself but I’m not really lying...

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The Art of Inventing Untruths

Shortlisted for Contest #156 ⭐️

“I miss you.”I lie through my teeth, knowing that when she gets my message, Jane will be sobbing and begging for me to come back. I lie about it all, telling her I find the way she can’t ravish a meal if two different foods are touching each other endearing, as if she weren’t a twenty-six-year-old woman who behaved like she was ten. That I miss the way she’d wake me up by jumping on our bed, as if I found it comical and adorable and not incredibly aggravating. I tell her everything I know she wants to hear, because I need her to come back. Y...

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The Liar's Bout

Submitted to Contest #156

Chris Gomez is not a thief—an aging auntie indulges him and obviates any temptation he may feel to shoplift. He is, however, a liar, and Foley Gaspers is tired of Gomez’ lies.“Chris, you want to get high after school?” Foley asks the compulsive fibber in second period English class.Chris’ reply is similar to those Foley has heard several times before, “Hell, yeah. I want to stay high. I smoked a joint this morning. I was so stoned I could barely ride a straight line on my way school.”Foley knows Gomez is being dishonest.&...

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Love Is a Con

Submitted to Contest #156

TW: Swearing and sexual references. Darius Reaching across the table, Darius told the first lie of the evening to his date.             “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone looking as beautiful as you do now in my entire life.” In his mind, the image of a girl from his high school superimposed itself over the woman smiling in candlelight. “I love that dress,” he said, entirely indifferent to the rich blue she wore.           &nbs...

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Eduardo

Submitted to Contest #156

I'll start where it's easiest: Eduardo died September 16th, 2021 at the age of thirty-nine. He's survived by his girlfriend, two daughters and a son just old enough to remember who he was. Eduardo's greatest fear was that his son wouldn't have a father figure either. I'd told him Viktor would be fine, but what did I know? I was just some scumbag salesman getting dragged behind his final grand adventure.I met Eduardo on the side of the road outside rural Ellington. I had vacation hours to use-or-lose, so I took a reviled respite in the quiet ...

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Fabian the Fibber

Submitted to Contest #156

When Fabian’s father left to get a pack of cigarettes, he said he would return before sunset. He just didn’t say which one.Fabian looked out the window for many weeks, wondering why the cigarette store was so far away. But his mother didn’t miss his father, so Fabian decided he didn’t either. At school, the other 3rd graders weren’t as generous.Your dad is gone, they teased Fabian. Your dad bought a bus ticket to Milwaukee and he isn’t coming back.“My dad got a call from the President,” Fabian said, looking each one of them in the eye. “He’s...

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DDoIS: Parallel Geodesic Lines intersecting at Curved Space-Time Infinity

Submitted to Contest #156

“Hey there boy. Sky's the limit. Aim for the stars. You’re a blank slate. There’s infinite possibilities ahead. You can be anything you want to be. You’re not constrained by anything or anyone. You just have to put your mind to it & it will happen. I’m right there with you.” - were the exact words my father swore he said to me when I was first born & brought into this big bad world.As the years went by, he would stick with lesser versions of this message (updated on the passage of time, the law of diminishing returns, and the inevita...

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Only Words

Submitted to Contest #156

We strayed in far corners of your library, slow-dancing in a wood-paneled and wool-carpeted room. The paintings stared at us in disapproval, even the canvases with nothing but inanimate objects painted on their once bare bodies.I can just see a paintbrush tickling the white rough surface. The brush’s ends are stained a deep purple, the color of your favorite kind of grapes. Once purple meets white, there is no returning, no going back to a blank slate. You finish what you started or you get a new canvas.But new canvases are expensive. And a ...

17 likes 6 comments 6
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Life, After Life

Submitted to Contest #156

Bobby Boyd bit the big one.  And he is the subject of our following tale.  It is important to know a little bit about Bobby before we go any further.  Bobby as a child was not like the other children; he had wild ideas and an even wilder sense of adventure.  He also never got along well with the other children in his school, he was different and hurt him because he knew he was different too.  Bobby became a young man who lied, cheated and stole and he did so as naturally as we all breathe. So you can imagine that the...

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Never Be a Medium

Submitted to Contest #156

Man, I used to love my job! Now, look at me.  Would you believe me that I got big bucks just to lie?  Of course you wouldn’t, you’re too trusting of other people. That’s your problem. You expect everyone to be honest with you. Well, guess what. That’s exactly how people like me take advantage of people like you. We rely on your naivete and willingness to see the good in people to our advantage. I’m only telling you this now because there’s no point for me to lie any longer.  You see, like many people in these neck of t...

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Pants On Fire

Submitted to Contest #156

I can’t understand how my situation got out of control, considering how simply it began. It all started when I crawled out of bed this morning and decided to go fishing. I listened to the thunder rumbling from afar and to the raindrops tapping on the roof. It wasn’t going to be a pleasant day for fishing, but a little wet weather wasn’t going to dissuade me. So, as soon as I got dressed, I grabbed my fishing gear, hopped on my bike, and rode to the spillway at Eaton Brook Reservoir.For two hours, I sat there letting the rain beat on my back ...

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The Conversation

Submitted to Contest #156

“It hurts.” Good. That’s good. “Hurting is good?” Don’t you think so? “I hadn’t thought about it.” Well, why don’t you take the opportunity to think about it now? “I don’t want to.” And why do you think that is? “I told you. It hurts.” Maybe that feeling is trying to tell you something. “Yes, it is.” Good, this is progress, and you should allow yourself a little time to celebrate that moment. There is a pause in the conversation. Have you celebrated? “Not really, no.” Why is that? “Because it hurts.” Right. ...

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