Today’s inspiration comes from KittyKat, who contemplates faking illness to avoid an unpleasant family gathering, then wonders why she doesn’t use depression, a genuine illness, as a justifiable excuse.
The comfort of the acceptable lie
Smothers truth in the vacuum of our uncertainty
A short work of flash fiction for KittyKat, and the promise of victory
“A deal?” He uses that mocking tone every time he reminds me I’m wrong. “May I remind you that we’re not married — there is no room for negotation in our relationship.”
Fine, I reply with silent words that echo loudly in our conscious vacuum. Call it a change in our terms, then, my voice steady with the certainty of justice. You have an energy, a drive that has been the source for so much of our success.
“A most convenient shift to the plural.” If he had a cigarette, he’d draw on it now with a empty smile.
We (catching myself at the last second) need you to keep driving, keep pushing. Foward, towards the goal.
“All right.” He’s smart, can tell I’m making no attempt to hide anything from him. “And what’s in it for me?”
Freedom. It’s the only thing I can provide which is of value to him. No restraints, no forced shutdowns. None of the barriers we’ve had to impose on you. You take us where we need to go, I won’t hold you back.
“I see.” And I know better than to ask for anything more from him. He’ll either accept or decline — his actions will be the answer he provides. I feel naive, having made this devil’s bargain, but for once my naivety seems more blessing than curse.