Christina

This is my submission for Writer’s Digest “Your Story 70” contest. They gave the first sentence and a 700 word limit. If you like it, please click the like button and share.

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The difference is, I lie for a reason. I must. So would you in my position. Anyone would. I’m different. I lie, but I’m honest about it. That’s the truth.

These people, I don’t believe, care about the truth. Not in any way. It doesn’t suit them. Why should it? They have nothing to gain, but everything to lose from the truth. I once heard a saying. The truth will set you free. No truer words were ever spoke, and ring loud and clear in this situation. Perhaps I’m getting way ahead of myself. I’ve started everywhere, except at the beginning. I apologize and don’t mean to confuse. As for the beginning, I don’t know. That was a long time ago before I became involved. I can start from my beginning to this whole affair.

I first made the acquaintance of a beautiful lady in early October. Lovely Christina. Enigmatic and mysterious, without the slightest hint of a sinister, evil nature. She was different, in a matter of speaking.

She had the first friendly smile I saw. I had arrived in Dublin earlier that morning, and wanted a few strong drinks and a soft, warm bed. I found my lodgings, and a bar adjoining it. After a few drinks, I went to sleep. I awoke with the sun retreating, and a slight fog settling over the twilight streets as streetlights began to glow.

I walked out into the street. As I turned to my right, a figure stood out from the rest. No one else seemed to pay her any attention though when our eyes met she smiled. I made my way over to where she stood and introduced myself. At a glance I sensed a difference, up close I was sure. Not her beauty alone, but something more lying underneath the surface.

I invited her to dine with me. She said she mustn’t keep her family waiting. With a smile, she inquired if I was a stranger in town. I replied yes. She told me if I would meet her tomorrow, I could go with her and enjoy a nice home cooked meal. I thanked her for the offer and agreed without hesitation.

The next night, in the same place she waited for me. With every step, the feeling grew. Not fear, but anticipation. We walked down the main street, then turned down a back road. Light conversation passed between us. At the end of the street was a dead end, but she showed me a door hidden by ivy.

A fire roared in the fireplace. The flames weren’t the color of autumn leaves, but a mix of white and blue that reminded me of ice in a strange way. There was no warmth either. Christina, her mother and father, and three siblings, acted as if it were any other roaring blaze in any other fireplace. I looked closer at Christina. Her appearance, odd outside, became more pronounced. She looked white, blue in a way like the flames. The others did too. Yet they acted as if all was as it should be.

Then all became clear. This was a home, but no ordinary one. People lived here. At one time they were, but now, spirits, ghosts of long ago people who don’t realize it. They are nice, wonderful beings. I fell in love with Christina and stayed. I know they aren’t alive. They don’t, and I see no point in telling them. I lie to those in the world outside, but in this house I don’t speak the truth. Why tell them they are dead? They could leave, and Christina with them. That’s not so much of a lie, except maybe to myself.

Copyright © Drew Martin 2015

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