The Liar

When I last saw her, she was but a faded shadow of her old self. Gone was the alabaster that covered her entirety; what replaced it looked like pale, light-gray, unpolished granite. It was apparent that the lather of creams from far beyond our seas did not touch her as often anymore, if at all. Her plain, threadbare garb gave finality to what was a slowly unfolding tale of her fall into our everyday, our every way.

She had everything going for her. She was sure to succeed. She was certain to roll in the velvety smooth lap of luxury. For as long as she breathed, breaths would always be comfortable.

“Hello. How have you been?”

“Hey. It’s been… great.”

She put away several sheets of paper. They appeared to be forms for preparing life insurance quotes.

“Good. Great. So, uh, what’s been keeping you busy?”

“Oh you know, this and that.” She smiled.

No smile lied more.