Lying is a full time occupation, even if you tell one, because once you tell it, you’re stuck with it. If you want to do it right, you have to visualize it, conjure the graphics, tone, and sequence of action, then relate it purposefully in the midst of seemingly spontaneous dialogue. The more actual the lie becomes to the listener, the more actual it becomes to the teller, which is scariest of all. Some people really get to believing their own lies.

I had a sister named Beth. She had long wavy brown hair, a pointy smile, and a left dimple. She was very graceful and elegant. People used to always comment on her beauty. Almost like it was her only strength. I never prioritized outshining my sister. She already outshined me in everything. It didn't matter that I was older, there was never any point trying to chase after her. I wouldn't say I was her shadow. I was more like the air around her. Completely invisible to everyone, but still so necessary. I never minded it really though. I wasn't born to be in the spotlight. I liked gravitating around my sister and never being noticed.

It didn't last long after her twenties. Suddenly I was the center of everything. Creepy pictures of me would show up in magazines, interviewers would constantly ring my phone and knock on my door, police watched me everywhere I went, and druggies would try to rely on me for their cravings. Suddenly all eyes shifted from my sister to me, and she just dropped under the radar like a snake. She lied to everyone and left me to deal with it. She got no consequences or punishment. Some would say her death was enough of a punishment, but it wasn't. I dealt with those consequences, while she ran away to her hidden crack den in the woods. She died surrounded by her only real legacy. Drugs. I don't care about her skyrocketing fame as a modal. That was never her legacy. No, her legacy is the photo of her dead body lying in a pile of narcotics. And my legacy is the sister that ruined the ground-breaking Bethany with addiction out of spite and jealousy. I've never touched drugs. I've always been scared of them, and now everyone thinks I'm some monster that spoon-fed her drugs since she was an impressionable 14-year-old. I had no idea that she had ever even looked at a pill, much less taken one.

When everyone finally saw through her act everything got out of control. She was always an innocent little girl to everyone. The babyish modal. She couldn't let that image be soured. So she created a story. A good story. A believable story. A wanted story. The story that I had supplied her with all her drug needs since she was 14. I apparently ruined her. No, it wasn't the group of car-stealing highschoolers she always hung out with, it was me. That was her story, and people have never stopped believing it. Even after the police investigation went cold because of the lack of evidence. It's ironic thinking about it now. She just had to ruin me before I got the chance to ruin her.

(I have no idea what this story is.)

As he looks around, he soaks up his surroundings. He was a violent liar, as anybody could tell. He had the build of somebody who didn't have to do anything. He looked into a patch of trees, the boat in the background. He starts to run. He was technically a stowaway, but wasn't. He said he had the money then stole it from the ships treasury. As they landed, they found out it was him. There was a native american tribe in the bushes, so he can't run there. He panicks, and tries to run to the sides, but soldiers from the ship appear on both sides, and he stumbles, choosing to pick the native americans. He gets shot in the chest. That's what you get theef boi