First it was his art teacher.
“Jimmy’s talented, Mrs Graham, but he tells lies.”
Then his football coach.
“He stole from the locker-room. I saw him, but he denies it.”
I remember the confrontations – the jutting under-lip, the tiny clenched fists. His protests were indignant, then stubborn.
Eventually the complaints ceased, but Jimmy was never the same, distracted, resentful.
I saw them on the news last night, the teacher, the coach. Heard how they’d operated all those years, the network they’d organized, lives they’d ruined.
Jimmy’s back-packing somewhere.
He doesn’t paint; doesn’t watch football.
And he never calls.
Friday Fictioneers – your story in 100 words. This week just 99 for me, so I’ll carry a credit over to next week. 🙂 The inspiration for this derives from a popular modus operandi – first you rubbish someone, set up an expectation of lies, and then when the truth, or something closely approaching it, is told, no-one believes them.
Thanks to the multi-talented Rochelle for continuing to host our weekly gathering. I know it’s a lot of work.