Pinocchio's Curse (A Short Story)
Posted March 4th, 2013 by mholden
March 4th, 2013
Sometimes I wish I had Pinocchio's curse. The long nose; inablility to tell a lie. If we are being honest I'm not even sure what is truth and what is exagguration. Perhaps it is because too often I listen to other people instead of myself (even though they aren't in the situation). Maybe I just wanted to believe anything but the actual truth. My head slowly tilts towards the floor and I gaze down at my worn down shoes.
If you listened closely you could hear everything; the trees swaying in the soft breeze, the birds singing from afar. The air that hit my skin forced the hair on my back to stand up straight. It was fall. My favorite season. Being outside helped me to think better; clearer. I was so exposed to the world whenever I sat out on the patio. Everything I said could be heard by anybody who was near. I was seen by those who looked my way. There was no closed doors to hide behind, no walls to sheild the secrets being made behind them.
Honesty is such a nice trait. The feeling of being open to all around you. Believe it or not, there really was a time that I was closed off to those around me. There was absolutely no desire in me to let people in. I'm not sure when all that changed. I guess I got tired of lying to people. Tired of hiding the real truth. I used to think that being honest with everybody would be nice. It would be a change, thats for sure. But nice. I guess I told so many lies before, hid the truth for so long that now I'm being seen as the liar. The truth is no longer valid; as if it were an expired coupon.
I deserved that much. I had been so afraid for so long to explain my life; to tell my story. At least I could live with knowing that I was finally truthful to those around me. Though I didn't know what good that did me. I am the girl that cried abuse. It shouldn't matter whether people believed me or not, but it does. I lift my face a familiar stinging feeling stab my eyes. It was my bodies attempt at crying. Just another one of my inabilities. One of the many.
I don't believe that comparing other peoples stories should be used as a method of helping people. For one reason, it makes not one person feel any better. If anything it makes them feel selfish and not important. No matter how small they are, not one is to be considered insignificant. I've been compared to a lot of people, I'm sure its the same for you. Lets sort through a few by popularity. "What about the kids starving in Africa", "The orphans in china", "the people with no home", "The victims of Hurricane Katrina". No matter what you've been through or where you live there will be at least a single person to tell you that somewhere in this crazy world there is somebody worse off than you.
This is unfortunate. We can try our hardest to change that, but who are we kidding? They are right. There is always somebody who has it worse. Though how does this change our problems. They are still there, still burdening us. Perhaps more than before due to the lack of sympathy coming from the human kind around us. See, there is a flaw in their method of "aiding us". They treat problems as if its a war to be fought. A war deciding who deserves the most sympathy; the most help. Honestly, why would anybody want to be the winner of the war? Who would fight for the lead to be in the worst possible situation.
The screen door is now swinging from behind the corner, its hinges squeeking in silent agony crying for aid only some good old oil could bring. I turn my head towards the noise expecting somebody to appear from behind the red brick corner. It remained empty for a period of a few seconds leaving me to believe my superstitions were caused thanks to a heavy gust of wind and a very very old door. Nevertheless I paused before returning my sight back to the dense forest and continuing my thoughts.
I wasn't afraid of anybody seeing me gaze off into the open distance, listen to me think outloud, or invade my privacy. This world belongs to everybody in it; though I suppose a little distance is recomended for everybody. For too long though this place, this home of ours had lived with millions of secrets. Its my belief that this world was created open to all to explore. Though there is nobody to inforce this, unfortunately. So we live behind walls, covered in dirty secrets and gossip which camiflauges us.
A breathe of air leaves my lungs exiting in a long, exhasperated sigh. This world was so far gone, along with all the people in it. Everything was fading into nothing, therefor had no point. Believe me, this is not me being some depressing "freak" who believes this world should go to hell already instead of standing on the edge of impending doom. I am simply a hater of privacy. Perhaps if my situation had been different my oppinion would be different, however my situation remained the same and my oppinion has yet to change. My life has been destroyed by human kinds ability to decieve. Therefor I see no reason to love the freedom of discretion.
I am different, and I will admit that I've told many lies. Despite how good my intentions were wrong is wrong, sin is sin, and lies can and will never become true. You cannot "make" an honest individual of yourself by trying to make the lie come alive or by finding every excuse to prove your situation to be true. When you decieve somebody else it will forever remain a lie and if caught your reputation is sealed.
I could feel my eyes drift down to my arm. There was no amount of truth that could now be told to convince everybody in this world of my story. To some it will be fiction, and if I am truely being honest it hurts me. Sometimes even I beleived that the ugly white scars that aligned my arms should be enough to convince people of my innocence. Enough to make people hand over their sympathy. The bruises that were hidden behind my bleach white skinny jeans, weren't those good enough? What about my busted lip of the cut that stretched itself across the side of my face. That inch long gash that dug deep into the side of my stomach, the bullet imbedded in my thigh. In the end I have just been labeled as a desprete teenage girl who is still in an attempt to get peoples sympathy.
Sometimes I wish I had Pinocchio's curse. The long nose; inablility to tell a lie. If we are being honest I'm not even sure what is truth and what is exagguration. My chest heaves up and down, fast at first but it gradually slows. I look back over to the old wooden door and smile at the figure leaning against the brick. A being, as bright as an angel stood smiling at me as I push myself back and forth on the old wooden rocker. I begin to stand, feeling each muscle bend together until I am only depending on my legs for support. I've always been told that the truth will set you free. I'm not sure if this saying stands for everyone. Gurenteed it ruined my reputation, labeled me as a liar and an outcast, and forced me to do things that I should have never done. I suppose, for me, it was worth all the pain and all the trouble.
My feet drag themselves forward until I am standing directly in front of the bright being. He raises his hand to cradle mine and slowly wraps me up into his arms. Relief flooded my body and I melted into him slowly fading from that old wooden shack. Taking one final look at my surroundings I grin. It was all slowly disappearing, being replaced by a warm, white light. I turn my head back towards the man holding me and close my eyes; finally ready to leave a world of pain behind.
See more stories by Kay