Tuesday, February 7, 2012

A Liar's Truth Guest Post! A Unique Story by the Author of The Fourth Eye

Join the wonderful Meg X to find out how a story teller was born!  Keep reading after this unique guest post to read about her book, The Fourth Eye and where you can get your copy today! 


A LIAR’S TRUTH
 
When I was a kid, everyone despised me, even my own family. My brother, who was older by six years and sister by four years, called me ugly and sneaky.  
 
Well! What could I possibly know about sneaky? I was only five and a half.
 
I remember someone poked into my father’s pocket and took a few bucks while he was asleep. It was believed to be an inside job. 
 
My stocky mother gathered all of her three children and demanded a confession. But no one volunteered. My sister and brother stared ahead with innocent, stony expressions. I turned to smile at my mother.
 
In the end, my mother gave up shouting and changed to a soft tone. “Whoever acknowledges taking the money won’t be punished but will be rewarded with a peach.” There was a nice smile on her face.
 
We lived in a small, poor southern town in China and a snack was a rare treat. “I took it!” I declared, glad I had acted before my sister and brother could. The sweet, juicy peach would be mine, and mine alone. “I took the money!” I shouted.
 
“You stole the money?” my mother asked, narrowing her eyes. 
 
“Yes, yes!” I grinned. “Now, where’s my peach?”
 
My mother’s hand landed square on my face, wiping the smile off me. Stunned, I flew my hand to cover my face. The slap hurt but I had high tolerance for pain and I wasn’t ready to let go of the promised fruit. I stumbled, blinked, and protested. “But Mother, you said peach —”
 
“You’ll get your peach when I beat the thief out of you!” My mother answered me with more smacking. I began to see stars and realized there’d never be a peach. What had gone wrong? I turned to my brother and sister with a pleading look, but all I got was mingled contempt and gloating in their eyes.
 
“Wow, a thief!” my brother smirked.
 
“Once a thief, forever a thief!” My sister held up a pinkie before my face. “Remember!”
 
“Where’s the money?” my mother asked. “Tell me where you hid it, little one, and all will be forgiven.” She was now more concerned with the whereabouts of the lost dollars than my thievery. 
 
“I . . . I didn’t take it. But when you said a peach, I . . .”
 
Losing her patience, my mother pinched my ears and lifted me up into the air. Then my brother’s sore-throated voice added fuel to the flame by accusing me even more, and my high-pitch voiced sister joined in on the yelling. My mind went blank.
 
Man, how I regretted shouting “I took it”. When my mother’s hands let go of my ringing ears, I glanced over at my siblings in great sorrow and had a brief time to estimate the situation: my lovely sister was a star student, and my brother, one of the coolest kids in town. I, on the other hand, was born with a mouthy face and a pair of small, slant eyes which forever struggled to see the world. No sane person would pin my brother or sister instead of me as a thief.
 
“The little one has a thief’s eyes,” my brother observed.
 
“She’s always sneaky. She even walks like a little mouse!” my sister added. “I don’t even want my friends to know we’re related!”
 
Under my mother’s interrogation, it didn’t take me long to further confess the crime I had never committed. In a mist of tears, I told them all of my hideouts. They turned over almost every inch to locate the money, until there was only one place left – the deep, dark corner under a heavy wooden bed shared by my sister and me. Two sides of the bed were against the walls; the other side blocked by a heavy chest. So there was only one way in.
 
My mother and brother were too big to get under, so the task fell to my sister. She barely made it under the bed. After she crawled out, empty-handed, and with spider webs hanging from her silky hair and creamy face, my sister glared at me as if she wished to squash me like a bug.   
 
“She must have spent it all,” said my brother, “on candies or maybe a peach.” He turned to me with a hint of smile. “Admit it, little one, and you can go and play.”
 
Fleeing the fray was all I could hope for. “I . . . I admit,” I said. “I spent it all . . . I bought plums.”
 
“Where are the plums?” my sister demanded. Plums were her favorite fruit. 
 
“I ate them all before I came home. I knew you’d take them from me if you saw them.”
 
My sister pursed her lips. 
 
“And I swallowed all the seeds . . .” I added.  The seeds of Chinese plums were tiny. 
 
My mother struck me again. My cheekbone hurt so much. I sobbed, more terrified that this punishment would never end. But I quickly came up with an idea. “Forgive me, Mother . . .” I repented, slapping my sooty, tear-stained face hard, so she couldn’t continue whacking me. “Please don’t hit me. Please . . .” I gave myself two more hard slaps. “See, you’ve beat the thief out of me!”
 
  
 
That day, a liar was born. But for every adversity, there is an equal or greater opportunity. They brought the storyteller out of me. 



About Meg
Meg X is an international, award-winning author. Her first science fiction novel, Ghost Star, was published by the China Federation of Literature Publishing House. Her romance novella, Dance with Your Enemy, won China Central Daily News Editorial Award.

THE FOURTH EYE is her first English-language novel. She resides in California. Visit her website Here





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2 comments:

Paul Dillon said...

This is a great story, Meg. Thanks for sharing it with us.

Meg X said...

Thanks Paul. I'm glad you liked it. Cassie is kind enough to post it.