What was Missing in the Set
In the End, they were all Lies.
...the V and E were hanging, misleading. The Living Energy, vie, and E as Mass fucking itself over twice as fast. One need only rearrange the lowered bar of the vowel and pull it tight as a straight hold over the consonant mountain flipped and righted, to know that Fff, it be "Life," A LIFE. Stripped.
"Tell me more about the things that have shaped you the most."
Constance knew it was a probing Question. It was in response to how she had started the Session: "I want to believe."
Yet, it was Lie that stood out to her, dead center, in that noblest Concept. The Conviction that things lie buried deep Inside. Things which are accepted or rejected, about one's Self, or one's Species. That link in itself Specious. Non truths. Things which are Not False. Nor True, per se. But maybe Either Or; or Neither. The Essence.
Like in Meditation.
Like in Divination.
Like in Morality.
Whatever left a person Hanging in the balance of unknown Estimation. That is to say the Fundamental perception of Self Worth.
In this the Twists:
The dodges and excuses Family made about the Accumulation and Distribution of Wealth, in and outside of itself, lying beneath. Dealings. She had her furs in Public; He had his whores in Private. On the Surface, they were the Model of Success, in every Article, right down to the Governess'd 2.5 children. The Half being the Family Yorkie who lived in the Missus' handbag along with the Revolver and emergency pill Bottle. Security in the Family, covert, as with Fear, felt, but unseen. Like Status.
The Family was Stable. It valued Togetherness. It valued Hard Work. It valued Justice, and Freedom of Choice. It valued Value. F
The things that Shape us most.
LIES.
Five lies, five truths
What makes a lie, a lie? Can a truth be a lie? Can a lie be a truth? For that matter, what is truth? What is a lie? A thousand questions churned in a cloud of almost tangible chaos above the table in front of me. At the same moment, four other sets of eyes met mine as they too looked toward the center of the table.
Each one of the five beings around the table had one task. To prove their existence. The rules of the game were simple, and there could only be one winner. In order to survive, one had to prove that one truly existed, and that the other beings did not.
I gathered my courage and spoke first, "I know that I exist, because I know how I came here, and what came before. I know the story of my life until now."
This had no effect, other than gathering four assenting murmurs from the other beings around the table. This was going to be harder than I thought.
Next, the being to my left, who looked like a satyr, spoke, "I am conscious. I know my own thoughts, and can reflect upon my own nature. I must therefore exist."
I joined three other beings in agreeing with this sentiment. Now, one of the beings opposite me spoke, the words emerging from a swirling black shadow with silhouette of a woman within, "None of you can possibly exist. I see, I hear, I feel, I taste, I smell. My senses tell me that I exist, therefore I must exist."
Again, a murmur of assent traveled around the table. The shadow looked distressed. The being to my right spoke, "My world, which I have been so cruelly plucked from, has existed for longer than anyone can remember. That I come from a world with such a long history must surely prove that I exist."
As the murmur of agreement rose yet again, the last being spoke, "I cannot conclusively prove that my being exists, but I can prove without a doubt that the matter that I am comprised of exists, and that it exists in the shape that I perceive myself in."
After a moment of silence, there was once again a unanimous agreement. We stared at each other, puzzled. None of us could prove that we existed more than another.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Five beings sat around a table. Each held a paper scroll with writing upon it. They stared at each other, and glowered. None of them could prove that their skill in storytelling was greater than that of another. No one had won this contest, all were equal. As they rose and parted ways, five other beings were returned to their rightful places in their own stories. For in the end, none of them existed, they were all lies. But, while each story was a lie to other worlds, to itself, it was truth, and truth and lies were relative.
In the End
SHE: You mean they were all lies?
HE: That's not what I'm saying.
SHE: Then what are you trying to say?
HE: They were all b.u...
SHE: B.u., L. L., huh.
HE: It was just a few nights.
SHE: A few nights?
HE: Here and there.
SHE: B.U.?!
HE: Before Us!
SHE: How much is a few nights?
HE: I don't know.
SHE: What...?!
HE: I didn't keep count.
SHE: How much is a few beers?
HE: Not the same thing.
SHE: Just checking.
HE: They didn't mean anything.
SHE: But they weren't Lies...?
HE: They were just...
SHE: ...a few Lays?
HE: HONEST!
12.22.2023
FFF#11 In the End, They were All Lies!
Very Pretty
When you're a kid, four, five, six, and seven years old, it's lively.
The constant bang of loud voices down the table laden with sumptuous, specially prepared food.
The rest of the year, Eric could recount for hours and hours, is quite boring to be honest.
The same old, same old yelling and screaming of two adults, his own door constantly closed, the sound of the front door and the family car gliding out of the driveway at several miles faster than was appropriate.
The holidays are the time where the family is at it's best, it's most lively where we come together for what we love the most. "You Eric!" announced the plump, sweet granny that smelled of cinnamon streusel every Christmas night.
"You're what we love the most."
Being incessantly kissed and pinched from the time he could mewl and complain so, so adorably, said all the adults. "You're what make the holidays such a pleasure."
What amazing lies those are.
And poor Milo.
Eric had preemptively shut up his borrowed bedroom in his best friend's house. As the scattered, uneasy rise of adults' yelling rose in the air.
His stomach clenching, despite the hunger, a layer of bile began to bubble.
Maybe he'd peek in later to see if Milo would catch on this year. For once he could be there for when the sparkly wrapping turned out to be a dumpy little cardboard box.
Speaking of, just what lumped, misshapen thing did Milo get him to be such an odd shape when wrapped?