An Experiment in Free Writing

Most lies are not big. They're small. They look harmless. Until they multiply. The first lie comes, a spot of jam on a tile floor, a small imperfection that needs to be covered. Put something over it. Now, a stool sits in the corner, covered with a bright floral fabric. The stool has been moved. Something has to take its place in the living room. The coffee table gets shifted, then something is added to occupy that extra space. Because it wasn't there before, it gets accidentally knocked over, the pieces swept under the rug. This creates a lump, an obstacle, that someone may trip over. A chair gets moved, its legs acting as sentries around the lump of debris. Now, there's a chair in the middle of the room. Another tripping hazard placed too close to the couch for it to be comfortable. Wouldn't it be easier to tell about that small spot on the kitchen floor than rearrange the living room? Covering a lie causes more mess. Better to tell the truth right from the beginning and take care of the problem while it is small.