Bad Liar | JamFilm

1.

"You forgot something, Jam," lips stretched into a crooked smile, which Jam so badly wanted to wipe off Film's face.

"And what is it, Film?"

"Evil for evil — that's my philosophy."

"Aren't you afraid?" Jam remained calm, even though he felt a growing agony within.

"Why should I be afraid? I'll destroy anyone who even glances at what belongs to me," and it was unclear whether he was talking about reputation, money, or the people he cared about dearly. Jam wasn't sure if Film considered anyone a close person to himself.

"Evil begets evil — in the end, you'll just drown in your own hatred," Jam couldn't hide his disgust, his fingers clenched into fists. He wasn't sure if his words carried any weight. The smirk still wouldn't leave Film's face, and Jam struggled with the urge to wipe it away by force.

But the next words made him flinch, looking at Film with a tinge of regret, whose gaze darkened, becoming lifeless:

"As if there's anything left in this world besides hatred."

"For tomorrow, read the twelfth paragraph and don't forget to send me your assignments by Friday. If you are late with submission, you will not be allowed for the exam," Film said, surveying the full auditorium and closing his computer. The students immediately started rising from their seats, rushing out of the room.

Film let out a heavy sigh, wearily closing his eyelids. He hated the exam session more than the students themselves: endless grading of papers, his inbox flooded with messages from debtors, constant complaints from colleagues. Film tried to maintain subordination, isolating himself from other professors, focusing on his work, but at times, they still managed to find reasons to disturb his tranquility. Such instances were not frequent. Usually, people steered clear of him, well aware of his reputation. No one dared to approach him without an actual reason.

Audacious. Insensitive. Cruel. Such epithets trailed behind his name. And he didn't deny them, playing his role perfectly.

He had come to believe in this act, discarding all humanity as his father had taught him.

'Emotions are for the weak.'

They brought nothing but trouble.

The autumn was cool. A light rain covered the roads, and Film realized bitterly that he had left his car at home today, wishing to take a walk under the sun's rays in the morning, forgetting that the weather during this time of the year was unpredictable.

Adjusting the bag on his shoulder and exhaling heavily, the man left the university, and within a matter of minutes, his hair became soaked through, strands sticking to his bared neck. Watching the students hurrying home, Film felt a gentle melancholy settle in — a barely noticeable smile played on his lips, but a hint of sadness gleamed in his eyes. He couldn't boast carefree days — more was always demanded from him, expectations were constantly placed upon him, he was perpetually someone else, forgetting his own desires.

And now there was any left. He adhered to what he had been taught: "Reputation above all, money decides everything, people's feelings are for sale — they shouldn't be trusted."

And could the world have been built any differently?

A sudden hailstorm interrupted the man's thoughts, and scowling at the sky, he covered his head with the bag, muttering under his breath, realizing that he wouldn't make it home like this.