Short Stories

SHORT STORIES

A few short stories.  Some by yours truly, others by Guest Authors

 

Last Lie

by Richard Scott

“This tastes different,” she said around her toothbrush, voice distorted by white foam and plastic. Behind her, watching in the mirror, I could not bring myself to comment, so I nodded, knowing she was not looking at me.

“But I like it, I think,” she continued. “What brand is it?”

I looked down at the tube in my hand, and felt the lump in my throat grow as she stood there.

“You OK, honey?” Over her shoulder, still not looking at me, she wanted to know.

I nodded again. If she noticed my silence, she was not moved to comment on it.

Ella, my wife… my beautiful wife of eleven months finished, rinsed her toothbrush, and clunked it into the cup by the sink.

“Tingly,” she said, dabbing at her mouth with a towel, then, as if dizzy, steadied herself against the counter top. “Whoo,” she said, and giggled.

She turned then, and I almost lost my resolve. I wanted to run from the room. I wanted to stop…

There she was, standing before me, radiant in a sheer robe. Ella was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. It wasn’t Hollywood beauty, not Photoshop glamour… it was deep… it was… I didn’t know. I never knew. I would never know. Not after tonight.

“You look funny, Roy. Too much to drink at the party?”

Her smile turned to a smirk. It was a face I had grown to dislike, distrust.

“I… I’m fine,” I lied, and I looked into her eyes for what I guessed would be the last time.

“Well, you don’t LOOK fine.”

Without preamble, and before I could lose my nerve, I asked, “Is it Roger?”

It was amazing—her face—just then. It was changing, struggling, and I don’t think she knew it was happening.

You see, Ella is a liar, and she is very good at it. She lied so well that most of the time she believed her own propaganda.

She did, then, what she always did, when surprised, or when she knew she had to get out of a tight spot. She composed herself, took a breath, and prepared her lie.

“Yes,” she said, unblinking. “It’s Roger.” It took a moment for her to realize what she’d said, but when it came, her face contorted.

“No,” she said. “What I meant to say was, of course it’s Roger. I love him. He is everything you could never be.” Ella looked like she wanted to scream. She prepared another lie, “I’m going to leave you. Tomorrow.”

Her eyes were wide now, and she put her hands to her mouth, as though to stop this stream of truth.

She laughed then, her wind-chime laugh that had so captivated me in the early days. “It’s a joke, Roy. I’m kidding. You know I like a good joke.”

I nodded. “So,” I asked plainly, “is it Roger?”

“Yes,” she said, and she screamed. “How…?” The question stalled in her throat.

I looked down at the tube in my hand. It was white, and plain, and had only one word on it.

Truthpaste.