The old mans eyes haunted her. Like the tell-tale heart. She dreamed of them, sank in their blank void-less depths, smothered, she awoke screaming.

The police had questioned her, as a matter of routine. She simply replied that he had slipped, after all the pavement was wet, maybe he would have slipped anyway. Maybe her small push was really an attempt to try and save him. Yes, that’s it. She consoled herself with her own lie, almost believing it.

She opened the book to reassure herself, surely it would vindicate her, make the lie true.

It simply stated .“The lies we tell ourselves are still lies.â€? No vindication here. The truth stared back at her written in flowery prose. Undeniable.