The Art of Lying

Part I - Chapter 2: My Art

I returned home on Saturday, at about 5:00 am. I didn't get to my house until 6:10, and I was too tired to move. I collapsed on my bed, and slept soundly for five hours. When I awoke, it was about 11:30 am, and I was still drowsy. However, I couldn't be distracted any longer. I set about my studies on my computer, taking to my coursework. It was a long, dreary job and it took all of my mental power to stay awake. Soon, I'd finished, and I settled down. I put on a YouTube video, and relaxed. I relaxed for almost ten minutes, before I got back to work, now studying for a test.

It was five minutes later, when my mood changed. Thankfully, alone in my bedroom, the titanium mask didn't have to be applied. My face dropped, as did my head into my hands. A soft groan escaped my lips, and I squeezed the bridge of my nose. Afterwards, I kneaded my forehead, as I always did. This was a common routine in my private life, though I very rarely did it in anyone else's vicinity. I slumped back on my bed, my hands flying to my face. I rubbed the entirety of my face with my hands, and I could feel the common numbness setting in. My face felt heavier, and my eyes were dragged downwards, to stare at my feet. My eyes weren't looking, as they normally did. They were simply open to give me a quick get-out clause if anyone checked on me. This was how I lived, insecure to the point of security. And it worked.

My weekend passed much the same, with fits of depression spread throughout. Monday approached much too quickly for my liking. I was still exhausted, and the sunburn still stung a fair bit. I saw myself in the mirror that morning. I looked older... Like a century older. I looked unshaven, felt haggard and my eyes had very distinct bags under them. I had never slept well (As I would find out a few months later) and last night seemed to be no exception. As I got onto the shabby, rusted bus that would take me to school, I felt a genuine sense of dread. Despite what I shall tell you over the course of this tale, don't think for one second I enjoy my art. Success in this field is more a curse than a blessing. It cuts you off, disables most of the human contact you'd like. And yet, it was set in stone. My art is not enjoyable. But it's necessary.

As always, I found use of my 'art' within minutes of entering the shabby, decrepit building that housed my education. My mood was of the blackest, darkest depression, though my face remained neutral, never showing the slightest hint of weakness. That was the trick. You see, I dabble in acting as a hobby. Unsurprisingly, I seem to succeed at it. It's all about character. Every second, my mind is full of those little reflexes every other person gets when lying or upset. Avoiding eye contact, a flicker of a smile, the fidgeting, the hesitation. They are simple to fix. While I still may lack in mastering the tinier of these movements, I know enough to fool fourteen and fifteen year-olds, at the least. That's all I need for school.

You see, it can be very simple. Let's use my friend Warren as an example. He's one of the hardest to lie to. He looks at all of my face, not just listen. So, there's a few very important things. You mustn't say 'I'm fine' immediately. I always like to act confused at the question. Throws them off a bit more. Furrow the brows, give a questioning look, and then question them. "Yeah, I'm fine, why?" Usually that works. When it doesn't, however, I resort to 'character'. Character means that I stop being me, and become the me that everyone sees. If not happy, not sad. That's the side that everyone sees, and it works. I believe myself to be happy, and trick my subconscious and my reflexes into thinking I am. Even if it's a tiny smile, people still believe you're happy. There's not much room for error. One falter, and my friends would know my feelings, which wouldn't be a good thing.

With these techniques in mind, I would brave every day of school, a tedium and routine almost unbearable to my mind. However, Mondays were usually better than other days, as I had drama club that night. I had friends there, though I still had to retain my mask. Still, it was an oasis for me, and I loved every second of it. With this in mind, I ventured through the day without much upset, practicing and using my art throughout, and lying to people, without them ever knowing it.

Another, less-known fact about me is that I'm a habitual daydreamer. It gets me through a lot, and helps me escape the tedium of life. Usually, they're fantastical things that could never feasibly happen, but others, they're small things, which people would usually expect out of life. Love, friendship and a good job have all been subjects of my fantasies. Usually, I am called an introvert for these tendencies, and I suppose I am. I don't mind that all. It's just a nice way of looking at things. I've been called other, less desirable things too. Not well-liked at school, I get many jeers and jibes. Sociopath, psycho, loner, freak... All of them. They no longer bother me, though I get the feeling they may be part of the reason I wear my mask. All in all, I'm happy to be 'unsociable'.

Drama is always an interesting affair. There's nice people, a good atmosphere and my favourite hobby. There was a kid there, a month older than me, called Thomas. Everyone called him Tom or Tommy. Personally, I called him Tommy. He was a good kid, entitled, but humble and fair. I'd known him since I was a little kid myself. He was a good friend, one of the closest I have, and it was always interesting to talk to him. He'd had so many experiences, and had travelled to so many places, thanks to his mother having a fair bit of influence. Admittedly, I was a little jealous of all the stuff he'd done, but he was a good kid. He deserved the good. There'll be more on him later, as he was one of the main people affected by all the bad stuff that would soon happen.