“It’s going to be ok, right?”
“Are you lying to make me feel better?”
“So everything’s going to work out?”
Yep. We’ll get through this. It’s all going to get better from here. Say goodbye to rock bottom ‘cause we are on our way up.”
“Yeah. We’ll be laughing about this pretty soon. And we’ll be happier than ever. Better than ever, in fact. Suffering leads to self-betterment or some bollocks. Maybe not, but either way it’s all going to be fine.”
“And we’ll be successful?”
“Fucking obviously, dude. How can we not be? We’ll be the best there ever was. You’ll sing in front of millions and be adored by all of them. Bigger than fucking Beyonce. And I’ll be out there, capturing the whole thing. Marking your meteoric rise to fame in print so we can look back on it when we’re old and grey and living next door to each other in the old people’s home.”
There is a sniffle and cold arms wrap around the liar’s waist, clinging tight.
A rustle as arms hold tighter and tears fall harder.
A heart monitor bleeps nearby.
A nurse hurries by.
The clock ticks over to the end of visiting hours but arms only hold on tighter.
“I love your lies.”
“I know…you need to go before the nurse comes and kicks you out.”
“I love you, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Love you, too. Bye.”
Tales written from a prompt in just 10 minutes.
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