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April 19, 2017 - 7:57 p.m.

A Monologue for Abdullah. Sometimes I say things that aren't true.
It doesn't feel like lying. Like, I wouldn't call myself a liar.
I hear what I'm saying though
and I know that if I had to prove half of what I watch myself saying out loud
It's basically impossible.
But I don't know why I do that.
It's like I can't help it. I watch people's eyes get bigger, expand, light up
They can't believe the things that come out of my mouth.
which makes sense, because when I say them, I know they aren't true. Not half of it. Okay, that's not quite accurate. But a lot of it. And it's usually dumb stuff. Like, my proudest moment; it could have been anything. But I claim, out loud, that it was the time I crashed a luxury car. I get really specific, like adding details will make the whole thing more believable. I can see that they're skeptical, so I smirk - daring them to ask more about it. I keep going.
If I back down, then it makes me a liar. I believe it when I'm saying it.
Most of the time.
I never figure out that they think I'm full of crap until I take a breath. I brag about the lamest stuff: knocking some lady down; cutting class; pulling fire alarms.
I put on a 'don't care what you think face'... but I guess I do. If I'm being honest. Because as soon as you call me on it, I get mad. I get so furious. You call me out and I push harder. Push you away. Everyone. Then I laugh my head off and act like the problem is everyone else. But I'd never tell them the truth.
"I've pulled so many fire alarms," I lie through my teeth. Then feel like an idiot when some social justice warrior makes a comment about what an irresponsible move that is. All wound up. Saying, 'real people get put in danger when ignorant little jerks pull crap like that. While the ambulance and fire truck are at some false alarm, real people's lives are put in danger. I'd never forgive someone if a person I loved died because of some idiotic prank." Calm the fuck down. I never did half the shit I say I did. But I can't tell you that now. What kind of person makes stuff like that up?
And I don't even know why I do it. I feel like. Urrgh. If everyone would just shut up, I could stop talking. But they have an answer for everything. And the more they look at me, the further I push the story. If everyone would just shut the hell up, maybe I'd know what to say. And maybe it would be true.

One Step Removed: New Voice?

Sometimes I catch myself - a breath away from the moment when I start to go there. I'm having fun. Actual fun. I'm like, so wrapped up in it that I want it to be realer, more intense. So I go - like when you are drinking and you think it will be a more fun time if you just have another. But it isn't; you already felt as good as you were going to, and now it's just downhill, puke city; worse and worse. If you'd just stopped everything would have been fine. So you make a note to self - to stop next time. But my ego is actually too fragile to let myself get that sloppy. It's all or nothing. So the drunk lie, the sober lie, they just stay hard and sharp and as real as I can make them. If I just really steel my eyes and snarl, daring them to ask; I feel like they'll wonder, but they sure as fuck won't ask out loud.

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Imagine their story. Process the inner thoughts of a person, as I imagine it; wishful thinking. For me: I work through a tough or intriguing personality. For me, too: I offer them the self awareness and insight I wish they had. Though without the self-awareness, these quirks might not exist. This is not an exercise in realism. It's my own narration of secret lives.

 

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