Buried in Lies
She tried not to lie, but the words tumbled so easily from her lips. She made promises she knew she would never keep. And she was sure no one would ever know.
It began when she was three, all three-year-olds lie, don’t they? It was just a little lie about a cookie. She really wanted that cookie, and everyone thought she was just so cute.
The lies got bigger as she got older, money missing from her mother’s purse, homework “lost” on the bus, her best friend’s misplaced earrings.
Now she would tell the biggest lie of all when she tells herself that those lies never hurt anyone. Here, lying in a satin lined coffin, with no one to mourn her death or shed a tear, alone with only a lifetime of lies for company, she whispered, “Bury me with the lies I told.”
Dverse Prosery Monday — Bury Me
rhymeswithbug 
Candy, an apt title for your story. Some people do get into the habit so early that at one point it becomes who they are. I’m glad she had the epiphany, even if after the life was gone from her.
LikeLike