“I’m telling you Steve, words mean nothing. I can lie to you all day, and you’ll never know. In fact, I do lie to you all day.” Blake argued, his mind wandering, searching for something to do at the state fair that he was forced into attending.

He caught a glimpse of a fortune tellers booth, and started making his way towards it. Blake knew that his best friend wouldn’t go for it, he thought it was bad luck to go to a fortune teller, or anything that claimed to be magical for that matter.

“Whatever, I’m just saying that some people can be believed when they say something. Unlike you. Steve replied.

Blake sighed, it was no use trying to prove a point to a stubborn mind.

“Yeah, sure. Lets go get some food, cool?” Blake asked, losing interest in the conversation, and focusing on making his way over to the big purple tent.  He knew it would have been impossible to convince Steve to go, so a little fib would be fine. Besides, it would further prove his point.

Steve just nodded his head and followed in silence.

When the booth approached, and Steve noticed where they were going he started to protest. Blake just put a finger to his lips, and slid through the beads that created a door to the psychic’s office, shaking his head as Steve angrily declared that he would remain outside.

Once inside, Blake smiled at the woman, and sat down.

“Nice to have someone come in here finally, its been quite a slow day. My name is Madame Christine.” the fortune teller spoke.

“It was always busy in my booth, back when I used to tell fortunes.” Blake stated, the lie coming out before he could stop it. He looked to the right, admiring the array of spell books and magical ornaments in the tent, and couldn’t help but to feel slightly uneasy. The whole place had a paranormal feel to it. Expected, he supposed, in a fortune tellers tent.

Madame Christine gave a half mouthed smirk at Blake’s response, before taking out a spell book, studying it for a moment then catching Blake’s gaze again.

“A liar finds that his visits to my kind are not as pleasant as he may wish.” She exclaimed, taking his hands. Blake’s mind scattered, thinking of something to say that would defend himself, but came up empty. “Has there been anyone in your family recently that has been in trouble?” She asked, starting her reading.

Blake’s family was very religious, and as far as he knew, had never fostered a criminal of any kind, but that was nowhere near as fun of a story to tell.

“My father robbed a bank once,” Blake started, and after a pause he added “And my uncle was a part of the Crips.” Blake’s fingers twitched in the palms of the old woman’s hands. WHen he looked back at her, he noticed her lips moving. “Excuse me, what?” Blake asked, trying to pull his hands away, however Madame Christine had them firmly in her grasp.

“I told you. A liar finds bad company in me.” She said, her voice so low it was nearly a growl.

Blake looked at her, shocked, and left the tent. He found Steve waiting outside, tapping his foot impatiently. “Find out anything interesting?” Steve inquired, starting away from the tent.

“The lady was crazy, kept going on about how I’m a liar and wouldn’t find good company or something like that. I don’t know, let’s go home.” Blake said, his nerves slightly on edge after the incident.

After a fifteen minute drive, listening to music and talking to Steve, Blake had almost forgotten about what had happened at the fair. It wasn’t until he pulled into the driveway that memory of it was erased completely. In his driveway was a cop car, the police officer was ushering his father out from the door in hand cuffs.

“I swear, I don’t know what you’re talking about, officer!” He could hear his father saying, but the man didn’t listen. He just kept pushing. Blake hurried up to confront him.

“I’m sorry, but what is going on?” Blake asked, almost hesitant to hear the answer. Surely his father couldn’t be guilty of any real crimes, he was way too kind of a man for that.

The police officer looked Blake in the eyes. “Are you this man’s son?” He asked, his father shouting out many different yes’s and pleas for a chance to speak. Blake could only nod, still thoroughly confused.

“Son, I’m sorry to tell you this, but evidence has just showed up for an old bank robbery. It lead us to your father.” The police officer said in a calm voice, despite the frantic actions of the man he was holding. Blake’s mind went blank. His father had robbed a bank? There was no way! He had devoted his life to God, and his mother would never even look at him again.

“That can’t be true.” Blake pushed out, his throat swelling up, and his eyes beginnig to tear. Surely they wouldn’t take his father away from him. They couldn’t.

“I’m sorry son, there’s no easy way to-” The officer began, “No! You have the wrong man!” Blake interrupted, lashing out now to grab his father. Another officer grabbed him from behind and held him back. Blake grew angrier by the second. How could they do this?

The officer began to load his father into the back of the police car, and Blake lost control.

“I’ll kill you! I’ll kill your whole family!” Blake shouted, realizing too late what he had said. It was something he would say to a friend, or someone over Xbox Live, not to an officer of the law. Now he would be punished as well. Instant regret flooded through his system.

Blake’s whole body went cold, numb. It felt like he was no longer in control. Indeed he wasn’t as against his will, his legs carried him inside to the spot where his father kept a gun hidden. His hands fumbled around with the safety, and he loaded it with a clip of ammo.

He couldn’t control it. He tried to stop, to force himself to put the gun down, to move on and accept that his father was a criminal. Nothing worked. Slowly, he worked his way back outside, fighting every inch of the way. He raised the gun to eye level, and pointed it directly at the police officer. Without any hesitation, he fired. Three shots, all to the heart. He turned to the officer next to him, the one that had held him back in his outcry.

He caught a glimpse of his badge. It was the same last name as the officer he had just shot. Before he knew what was happening, he had shot the second police officer, right in the forehead.

Blake began to sob, but still had no control over his body. Steve and his father were shouting, yelling and screaming for him to stop, but his legs carried him on anyway. In the back of his mind, Blake knew where he would go next. He also knew that there was nothing he could do to stop himself. At least he could say he was no longer a liar.


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