The first lie Marie spent when she was six. She didn’t know the weight of this lie, she didn’t know what it meant. Her brother was annoying her, so she hit him and when his screams started she swore she didn’t do anything. Marie traded a third of her life for her parents to see right through her.

The second lie she spent at seventeen, trying to sneak away with her boyfriend. Trying to hide the weight of her actions from her parents. Marie knew the weight of this lie, she understood that she was using her second to last one. But still she spent it, advocating that this love was greater than this lie.

Her parents scolded her for wasting a lie on a boy her broke her heart.

The third lie Marie was terrified of. So scared of wasting it, of more disappointment, of messing up.

In her twenties most people still had all three of their lies, the rare person had two. She was ashamed of her one, a scarlet letter marking her as a failure.

Marie was so scared that she didn’t do anything, in fear that she would have to lie. She stopped seeing people, stopped going out.

Stopped fighting against her parents, stopped having friends, stopped living.

Her days were spent in terror, her life marked in shame.

Or so she thought.

Because as people grow older, their lies went down. They lie to their boss, their kids, their partner. People lie, even when they know the weight of it.

So their lies started going down. From three, to two, to one… some people even hit the dreaded zero.

So as Marie grew older, as societies lies went down, she shifted from shame to pride. She mocked her peers for being so wasteful, for spending all three of her lies while she still had one.

Did she change her life at all? Of course not!

Marie’s life driven in fear is what got her to this treasured place, of still having one lie. So she continued to hide, to not go out, to not have fun. She mocked the people who went to parties and events, saying that this _wasteful_ lifestyle is what caused them to be out of lies, while she still held onto hers.

Eventually, like all people do, she began to die. Marie was placed in the hospital, under watch even though everyone knew what her outcome was going to be.

There were other people by her, people she once mocked for spending their lies. Yet they had family and friends surrounding them, while she had none. Nurses came around, comforting Marie and the others more than actually helping them. They asked them about their lives, if they enjoyed life, if they were happy.

Everyone around Marie all said the same thing—life was hard at times but it was meaningful, they were happy, their life was fulfilling.

When one nurse asked Marie that question she answered the same as everyone else. Her life was meaningful; she was happy.

That was her third lie.