Like So Many Lies In His Ears

She was going to ruin his night. She was going to ruin his weekend. She was going to ruin him.

How’s that for an introduction, he thought to himself. And then nothing. He couldn’t be satisfied with another word, sentence or paragraph. It was too maudlin, or too personal, or not edgy enough. Nothing worked…beyond those first three sentences. 

“But they were/are so good” he lamented out loud to the cat and the ficus. He thought he heard the cat say “not that good.” He thought the ficus shivered and seemed to defecate a leaf. He knew what this meant. They weren’t that good. 

Like fake fingernails, he was going to press on. 

Think, dammit, let it flow. The cat jumped up on the desk and interrupted the early morning sun coming in from the window. Shadows, darkness, he thought. 

She was his light when they met, no, she was the light when they met. Only by her , through her could he see. But always behind him, a shadow.

“That’s fucking terrible” the cat said. “When you stop fellating yourself over the first three sentences, you should scrap em all then hang yourself.” The ficus shivered again then shat a number of leaves. “I don’t need this shit from you guys” he bombed. “I can’t edit or rewrite if I don’t get anything on the damn page. Get some opposable thumbs and be my guest, have fucking at it if you think you’re better than me!” He was freaking. “Oh, what’s that? You don’t have thumbs! No shit you don’t have thumbs. Tell you what, I’ll sew on some thumbs so you can stick them up your ass then in your pie hole so I can get some friggin work done!” 

She was a liar, a complete, unadulterated, chronic liar; to everyone. Her boyfriend, her roommates, her parents and especially herself.

“Better” said the cat.

All the lies, after so many, and for so long took a toll on her. The toll was the truth. It had no meaning for her anymore. She might even have spouted it a few times but she wouldn’t, couldn’t have known because it was blurred and so totally diluted through years of lying. The toll was the truth, of her. She lost herself through lies upon lies upon lies. How can you know yourself when you won’t stick to anything? How can you know yourself when you won’t draw a line in the sand; just keep moving it to where you  no longer exist as a line drawer at all. She vanished. The truth of her was gone like so many lies in his ears.

“Now you can suck your own dick” the cat said. “Tain’t bad.” The ficus stood tall and proud.

It was true of course. All of it. She was a liar and  did lose herself. She was horrible. But what did that say about him?