The Liar's Autobiography

May 22, 2009
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I’ve always had a penchant for lying. I lied so often and so fervently, I ended up lying to myself, and believing them. But I should know better than to trust someone who can’t tell the truth.
I could tell you that my story is highly interesting and that I was some sort of likable heroine, but I’m really not. You probably already made that decision when you read the description of myself. But since, and if, you’re still reading this, there has to be a reason you trust me.
A warning, before you read this book.
I am not the fiery, independent novel heroine.
I am not the secretly awesome character with the heart of gold.
This is not a romance, a feel-good story, or one that will take you away from the real world. Rather, this story will remind of the real world and all its faults.
Have you put the book down yet?

Let’s begin with a proper introduction. I was born with a name, of course, but considering the lack of its use, I might as well be someone else. Don’t get me wrong, I have friends. I’m not that shameful. But most people don’t call me anything besides “hey”.
If I were voted most likely to anything, it’d be “most-likely-to-be-away-when-something-historic-goes down”.
Anyways, let’s get to a story.
So here I am, sitting amongst countless faces on a school bus. I’ve been through this routine so much I’ve lost count.
Looking out the window to my right, though, a long road stretches out before me. It stretches out beyond the horizon, leading towards a vein-like road that connects routes to hundreds of destinations. From this angle and distance, the white lines on the asphalt appear in the shape of a white dove, stretched out and poised for flight. I have never traveled in that direction, let alone exited the state.

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