by Shona Maloney
The lie was tiny once. A flicker. A necessary evil. I thought I buried it. But it fed on my guilt, bloated in silence, and grew teeth. Now it wears my face, and speaks in my voice. It signs my name, answers my child’s questions, kisses my husband with my mouth. I watch from deep inside, screaming behind my eyes. No one hears. No one sees. They think I’m thriving. But the dog growls. The mirrors know. When I try to claw my way back, it just smiles.
“Shhh,” it says. “You had your turn.”
This piece was selected as a winner of our ‘Lies’ writing competition, and will be published in diceroll magazine issue II.
diceroll press 