Have you ever seen pictures of those flooded rooms, so full of water the floor beneath them warps and forms a hole? There is one picture where the floor is so full of water that it breaks the wood beneath, and protrudes into the basement. They're almost scary to see. They look unnatural. And I suppose neglect is unnatural. It's unnatural to let a problem compound long enough for it to look like a monster.

Lies are a lot like that. When I felt the first orange lie slide out of my mouth, I caught it in my hand and slid it into my pocket. I told her that I just had a little bit of a cold, then I had to turn and catch another lie that plopped into my hand. I loudly coughed, trying to make my feigned illness convincing.

I caught another lie in a paper napkin in my mouth after I told her that her cooking was good. I didn't want to hurt her feelings like the burnt, undercooked fried rice hurt my mouth and throat.

She is special to me; my lies are mundane, routine, even. Each day I come home with bulging pockets full of orange, soft lies, and each day I hurriedly place them in my closet. But lately I have been having trouble closing the door without a couple of them spilling out. For each lie I cram and kick in, another tumbles out.

**

The air conditioning in the Home Depot is too high. Chills caress me as I grow small goosebumps. I pick up a plastic five-gallon bucket. One won't be enough. I pick up two more. The cashier tries to make small talk as I check out.

"Whatcha planning?"

"Just a fun little project." I nod and turn, and a lie falls out of my mouth. It plops as it lands into the bucket. This project was not going to be fun.

**

I'm going to have to get rid of these lies someday. Someday I'll tell her she's awful at cooking, that my pockets aren't full of trinkets I find on the ground, they are full of lies, and someday I'll say to my co-worker that he is an asshole. And someday those lies will dissolve way. But there are a lot of lies that will stay forever. Inconsequential, short interactions, like the Home Depot Cashier, or the barber I went to once and never again (for good reason). And eventually, my lies will pool up, rancid and rotten, and maybe they will form into a terrifying thing that looks like a monster. I mumble that I will deal with it when the time comes. Another lie rolls out of my mouth. I put it in one of the buckets in the closet.