Sadly The Truth Will Out

I have no friends. Every person I meet leaves, and I don't mean they leave eventually after a few months because of some heartbreaking reason that will cause you to pity me. They leave after approximately thirty minutes of talking to me...Why? Because I am incapable of telling a lie.

My truth always will out, like vomit after a heavy night out, a thick, fast chunder of words that force themselves out of my mouth irrespective of the consequences. Some of you may think this is a good thing, a life of 'the whole truth and nothing but the truth', it almost seems pure in a way. But let me tell you in most cases this is not a blessing, it is the very thing that has caused me to run. Preferably into the nearest cave where I can never be asked "Why are you late?" or "What do you think of my new hair?" or the dreaded... "Does my bum look big in this?".

It was late, just past midnight, I was walking home from a quiet one in the local pub, a very quiet one as I previously explained, I have no friends, I sat in my usual corner spot where the occasional whisper floated its way over to my table, the nickname that the locals have decided to bestow upon me 'Honest Abe' and like Abraham Lincoln, I bloody embraced it with pride.

 At least I thought I did.

The walk home was cold and dark, my breath danced in front of me like a delicate white puff of light, my footsteps created a tuneful drumbeat echoing off the buildings surrounding me. Suddenly there was a much louder drumbeat of footsteps, much faster than mine and a thundering of persistent heavy breathing, which very eminently seemed to be arriving closer to me?

All of a sudden a find myself completely swept off my feet, flat on my back lying on the damp cobbled road, the air rushed out of me like a led balloon, I slowly sit up attempting to catch my breath when I see a man, running like the clappers, ferociously looking behind him to see if I'd randomly sprang into action to try and catch him, not me mate and definitely not with this beer belly. I climb onto my feet stumbling slightly as I was not prepared to be making full use of my muscles tonight, I amble down the rest of the road, I wonder what this man was running from. This is a quiet town, nothing ever happened here, the most excitement we experience is if the local farmer forgets to close the gates to the cow field. Perhaps he was running from a cow? Admittedly my mind is not in a state where I am able to come to a rational conclusion of his behavior. As I approach the end of the road I hear it again, the breathing, the desperate gasps for air, I look to my right, down the alley behind the butchers shop and there he is. The man that had just startled the life out of me, he's hunched over clutching his chest. I question myself for a second, shall I go over to him? But my feet had decided this already as I found myself walking towards him, perhaps out of morbid curiosity, or maybe it was my longing to have a conversation with somebody, even if he did strike me as a maniac. He was wearing a black knitted hood, pulled right over his face down to his neck, a large khaki coat swamped him, he was very large himself, no wonder he was out of breath. What on earth is a man that size doing catapulting himself through the streets? Maybe he was too embarrassed to go for a run during daylight, still, this doesn't explain the hood.

"You okay mate?" I ask, he doesn't respond, still wheezing he slowly turns his head to look at me, as he catches sight of me his breathing increases, almost like he knows me? Well most people in this town do. "Mate can I help you?" I ask again, I creep towards him, he doesn't move away. He raises his head again, muffled from under the mask he manages to say "No, I am fine thanks." I am starting to think the hood may actually be preventing him from breathing. "Take off the hood, you will be able to catch your breath so much better." I advise, he stays in the hunched position, this time not turning to look at me, "Go away," he pants, "I know you think you're helping but you're not so just go away!" his words get more frantic, what is he hiding? I thought to myself.

 "Do you want me to call an ambulance?" I pry, he straightens up, he has his hands on his hips, he pushes forwards onto his tip toes almost like he is stretching for athletics training.

" I am ok now, just slightly out of shape..." he assures me, I snort out loud "Slightly out of shape!" I exclaim "I have seen more shape in a bowl of trifle!" my words escape my mouth, naturally so. I hold my breath as the man is much bigger than me and could probably knock me down with one swat of his arm. The man looks at me and shakes his head, he walks in a small circle still stretching his back, now's my chance I think to myself,  I leap forward and pull the hood from off his face. To my surprise the man does not swing himself around to grab it from me, instead he shakes his head, almost like he saw this coming? He takes a few slow steps to face me "You always did like to meddle in things that didn't concern you....ay brother?".

Brother. I was not expecting that, my brother, my older brother in fact. I hadn't seen him in almost ten years, since Mum passed away. Our Mum like all mother's, had her imperfections, she loved a drink and she loved the company of men, questionable as our Dad left pretty much as soon as we were born, she craved attention like she had something to prove. As we live in a very small village this made our mother very well known, sometimes not in a good way. Still many (men) attended her funeral which meant only one thing...All the more people to have witnessed my horrifying speech. We won't go into it but being someone with the inability to lie as you can imagine writing a funeral speech can only go one way when it came to summarizing her life, particularly the life of a drunk. 

"What are you doing here Ron?" I spit the words at him, almost as if he was rudely interrupting the life I had built over the ten years he had not been here. My brother Ron, is an ex con. I enjoy saying that purely for the rhyme of the sentence, unlike me he lives a life shrouded in criminal activity and most ironically lies. It started when we were young, Mum would be passed out on the sofa recovering from the night before, the fridge would be empty and we were starving, my brother took it upon himself to steal a loaf of bread from the Bakery now and again or some sweets from the Post Office on the way home from school, he was good, quick, unnoticeable. He always had a way with words, twisting the truth here and there, so natural and convincing, Mum always said he could "sell crutches to an Olympic sprinter ". Then the long nights came, my brother was sixteen and I had just turned nine, I would wait nervously at the window for him, peeping from behind the curtain whilst he was out stealing jewelry or any other valuables he was able to get his hands on. Eventually he got caught, one night he was brought home by the village Police, my Mum exploded into fits of rage completely ignorant of the fact that the reason why he stole was to make sure him and I had food on the table. I sat on the stairs, nine years of age, my lips completely buttoned, I rarely uttered a word when I was young, as I knew it would open a whole can of trouble, I stayed silent, people didn't ask so I couldn't grass.

Ron wipes his sweat drenched brow and pushes back what's left of his curly locks, his head was alarmingly onion like, a few sprouts of curly hair teamed together at the top of his head, age didn't do any favors for the both of us then. He sighs "Thought I'd come back and see what the neighborhood was like these days, you know me, I am one for nostalgia" he laughs, again, another lie. "Pfft like I believe that for a second, what's with the frantic sprinting? Don't tell me you have taken up running cause I can see that's not bloody true from the looks of you" I smirk, he shoots me a dark look, he never did appreciate my honesty, then again who did?

 "You know just doing business" he says, still panting, what business is there to be done around here, unless he had been flogging sheep down the local pub.

Just before I can ask, we hear a shriek of sirens and a flash of blue lights hit the alley way, Ron looks at me "Run" he whispers, he jerks into action ready to begin running and as he does so two very large and very full bags drop from his ginormous coat, he looks at me, his eyes wide with shock and terror, he grabs one of the bags and gestures me to do so too.

And I do.

I reach down and pick up that bloody bag.

We ran, sprinted and practically threw our heavy bodies down the rolling hills of the fields, we knew where we were going, we didn't have to discuss it but then again we didn't really have the time. After Mums death I moved into the old family house where we grew up, a secluded small cottage on the outskirts of the village, surrounded by fields of sheep and cows belonging to a local farmer a few miles down the road. Eventually we reached the cottage, we collapsed on our old doorstep, fumbling around for the keys, we finally managed to battle through the front door and we slam it shut behind us. Both our old tiresome, overweight bodies hit the floor simultaneously. The sirens were faint, definitely long behind us. We lay still on the old wooden floor, I could hear the blood pumping its way around my body, my lungs were vigorously rising and falling, what an earth had we done?

"Right" Ron suddenly springs to his feet "we need to hide these bags" he says, his eyes scanning the room for the perfect hiding spot. 'We' I thought to myself, I wish I didn't bother investigating the alley way. Lord knows what Ron has got himself into now. I open the bag and peer inside, the bag is stuffed full of cash.

Bloody hell Ron.

"Where has all this cash come from Ron?" I sigh, I've been dragged into this well and good now, I may as well find out what he's been up to. Ron looks over at me, he seems to have a guilty air about him, I have only ever witnessed this when he's had to own up to me. "That house at the top of the hill, you know, the big flashy mansion? " he says awkwardly, I stare at him, how can he be such a fool? That 'flashy mansion' belongs to the town's biggest hotshot lawyer, well he used to be, he moved here so he could retire but not before he made himself well known within the village and the main town up the road. I know this because he was the talk of the local pub.

I thought Ron's days of slithering through peoples windows in the dead of night were over, especially with the size he is now!

"How on earth did you manage it?" I question, jumping up to my feet so I can stressfully pace around the room. "I have my ways" he says slyly, he also jumps to his feet, he casts a long gaze over the front room "Nothing's changed here then?" he quietly remarks. He was right, the old cottage sat frozen in time, the exact same as it was when we were growing up. The furniture was musty, the television still had an aerial that needed to be forcefully adjusted, along with a few hard smacks on the top of the screen to get the picture working. The wooden floor was warped and let out a loud painful creak if so much as an ant walked across it, the bookshelves stood weakly with mounds of dusty ornaments and was also home to piles of old tatty books. Interior design was never my strong point. I ignore Ron's smart remarks and look up to the attic, "Right, let's get these bags up there just in case we get an unwanted visitor sooner than we hope" I command, we step up the squeaky stairs and pull down the ladder leading to the loft, a cloud of cobwebs cover us in the process. The attic hasn't been used for decades. We go up inside and hide the bags behind piles of Mums old belongings, we look at each other blankly, we exit the attic and retreat back to the living room.

"We don't have long before the police pay us a visit" Ron points out, he plonks himself down in Mums old arm chair.

"What exactly do you propose we do Ron?" I snap at him, he looks at me wearily.

"We need to get our story straight, say I was visiting you after all these years, I arrived late and met up with you after you had been to the pub" Ron's tone was desperate. This only irritated me more.

"Do you want to know what exactly will come out my mouth when the police come a knocking? Ay?" my voice rises. Ron looks at me with a worried expression but this doesn't stop me. The sarcastic truth had already hit boiling point in my throat, now it needed to come out.

"I will say, hello officer, yes I can tell you all about tonight's disturbance and my whereabouts. At midnight I was taking a rather cold and lonely stroll home from the local pub, The Olde Deer and Foe to be precise, after having a few refreshing pints whilst keeping to my own isolated corner, I also endured being stared by the other locals like I was a disease infested troll who had just taken a piss in everyone's beer. " Ron's face has dropped so much I almost wondered if he was having some kind of stroke, but again, this doesn't stop me.

"Then during my companionless walk home, I found myself flat on my back after what seemed like an obese charging bull of man came right at me, the huge creature bounded through the streets at an unnatural speed for something of that size. I then brought myself to my feet and continued my walk home, when I then heard what sounded like the puffing of an overweight pug coming from down the alley way just behind the butchers." My eyes dart up to Ron, his face was a picture, this is kind of satisfying, I thought to myself, I hadn't done this in years! So I continue.

"Then I approached the beast out of my own morbid curiosity, I even tried to help the grotesque man remove the horrid black mask he had covering his face so he could breathe, then, to my surprise the massive man took off his mask to then reveal himself to me and it was none other than the disappointing, criminal waste of space my brother Ron the ex con! And like an IDIOT I helped him escape! So there you have it officer, lock us up and throw away the key!" I shout, this was ten years worth of anger. I'm sure Ron would understand.

The silence falls over us like a soft blanket. Ron scratches his eyebrow, shaking his head, "Am I really that big?" he asks, doesn't this man ever learn! "Yes" I reply naturally, he shrugs away my comments and stands to his feet. " Look, I really need your help brother, I needed that cash, I was desperate, you know how things are, I can't get a job with a criminal record, this is the only life I know!" he begs, I look at him, suddenly I see my sixteen year old brother, fending for the two of us, I guess I owe him but there's only one way this could work. "Okay, but you have to do all the talking" I assert, he nods and places his head in his hands.

There is a pounding on the door, we look at each other, Ron gulps anxiously, we both know who is at our door. I stride over to the door, my heart thumps from inside my chest, I take in a huge gasp of air as if it's my last, I open the ancient creaking door. Two men in blue stand before me, "Evening Sir" they nod politely, I nod back at them, all at once my throat dries up.

"Evening sir may we ask you some questions concerning your whereabouts tonight?" they ask, their heads slightly tilted, a stern look painted across their faces.

An invisible needle and thread begins to pierce its way through my lips, tightly sewing them shut.

The truth will out. Mind you in this case, it better bloody not.