Writing Prompt: May 26 - "Write a story where people are limited to only three lies in their lifetime."

I've learned how to tell the truth in a sideways manner.

When someone asks if I like their outfit, I can say "I think you wear it well", or "The neckline suits you", or any other half-truths. I cannot say I like it, if I don't.

When someone asks if I'm hungry, and I'm ravenous, but I don't want to intrude, I can say "I'm going to eat in just a moment", or "I'm fasting", or laugh it off and say "Well, my stomach sure says so, but I'll be ok". I cannot say I'm not, if I am.

When someone asks if I love them, I can say "I love our relationship", "What sense would it make if I didn't?", or "You are a loveable person - why wouldn't I?". I cannot say "I do" if "I don't".

It's been this way for most of my life.

I don't remember what happened exactly, but I hear the story of the night all too well. It happened when I was a young child. Young enough to be excited by a stranger's arrival in the center of the market, rather than wary. Old enough to be caught up in the first wave of those unfortunate enough to learn the hard way what spite can do.

They say the old woman came to the market looking for a rare spice. It's something we've used to season our holiday meals for ages, but it's extremely hard to procure, and it's kept primarily for locals to use. She asked at the stall about it, and was told that the last pinch had been sold, even though the last three pinches were tucked - hidden away - under the table cloth right in front of her.

The story goes that she seemed disappointed, but moved on.

Next, she showed up in the local tavern. She asked for a pint and a plate, and was informed that the tavern's serving hours had just ended for the afternoon. Even though that was just the keeper's way of making sure he could get his pre-rush nap in, before the evening hours.

The keep said she smiled and turned back through the door the way she came. He never thought more about it until people started choking when they tried to speak.

The last time anyone saw her, she was asking at church steps after lodging. Apparently no-one was inclined to offer a room to the strange lady, though in the same breath, no-one wanted to tell her "no" exactly. They made excuse after excuse, one by one, until it became clear that the stranger would not be staying under a roof that night.

Some say they saw a flash of light at midnight that night. Some say they heard an eerie gust of wind blow her curse over us.

All we know is that the next day, fights broke out in all parts of the village. None of the adults were prepared to speak as gently as we all do now.

The produce seller was the first to discover what the light and the wind fated our village to.

He has come to recount his version of the morning well. After spending a night out and returning home very, very late, he had fallen beside his wife in their bed. Upon waking, his wife asked "Where were you last night?" and he told her what would keep their peace. Upon preparing his goods for market and opening the door to leave, his 5 young children gathered and asked "Will you miss us, Daddy?" and he smiled and told them what would make them smile too. Upon getting to the market and setting up his stall, his neighbor asked "How's the day?" and he shrugged and gave a generic response that was expected for a inquiry-passed-as-greeting.

His day shifted very quickly when his first barterer came to purchase a bundle of carrots. After a bit of back-and-forth, he was asked "Is that the best you can do?" and before he could think, "No, I can do better" was what he heard himself say.

He likes (now) to recall the mirrored expressions of surprise on both their faces.

There was confusion, and anger, and sadness as unwieldy blades of truth came to the surface in homes and streets and businesses all over the village. Within hours the whole population was boiling with veracity.

As children at that time, some of us learned what had happened and adapted quickly to save our precious three. Some, like myself, used them up before getting out of bed.

"Are you up? It's getting late..."

- "Yes, Ma"

One

"Did you remember to take down the laundry from the line last night?"

I glanced at the clothes on the line that ran from my window across the alley.

- "Yes, Ma"

Two

"Do you want me to save you some oatmeal for breakfast?"

- "Yes, Ma - sounds delicious."

Three.

I often wonder how long I would have made it through the rest of the day, if I hadn't tried to add that completely unnecessary comment. Would I have made it to the market to hear what others had discovered before me? Could I have saved myself one falsehood that I could cherish and deploy carefully at a time that best suited me in the future? Would I have made it out of my room, but lied again before the bottom of the stairs?

It doesn't matter now. Most of the town were truth-tellers by the end of the day, whether they wanted to be or not. When you only have three lies to tell, ever, in your whole life, they go quickly unless you give heed to your every thought.

Nearly every child who could speak that day, became a truth teller within a few days.

After that, it became tradition to warn children to take care of their lies. Hold them. Save them. There's times where a lie could save their life. Imagine "Where do you live?" Imagine "Are you alone?". Truth tellers, especially young truth-tellers were almost always at risk of predation after that.

"Were there any exceptions?" You ask.

I cannot truthfully say yes, because I cannot be sure. But I cannot truthfully say no, because I've befriended a Dodger. She's helped me think strategically through what I want to say, think analytically about what I've been asked, and design an answer that has the impact I want to have regardless of the fact that I've been a truth-teller for the past decade.

It seems she may have been immune to the curse. It could just be that she is tremendously skilled with thoughts and words and how to string them all together. Either way, it's difficult to trust a Dodger, what with their skills. That's why I wanted her to be my mentor. I want to learn how to lie again. I want to break the curse. I believe that with Dodger's help, I can do this.

And that's the truth.