Lying

My mother always told me not to lie.  She said that even a small white lie, a half-truth, was a bad thing.  When she asked me if everything was okay, I didn’t want to lie, but I told her I was fine and that I just had a bad dream.  I didn’t want her to come check on me in my bedroom.  If she did, I think the little girl standing in the corner of my room would have gotten her too.

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