The Boy Who Lied about his Parents' Death

When the boy first lied about his parents' death, he presumed that he'd not be subject to consequences. It was a simple lie, and even when it compounded to include the town and a major business he guessed he'd emerged unscathed.

He lied about his sister's death first. She'd been clambering behind him along the rocks at the edge of the valley and had slipped. He'd rubbed enough onion in his eyes to make his story convincing, although it brought up questions about where it had happened. Although the boy had been creeping over the cliff's edge to see what he could of the fabled mines, he didn't want to admit that, so hastily adjusting the story on the fly, he told about his sister chasing a beetle, and how he'd joined out of an ill-founded sibling solidarity.

Her vision caught on the iridescent insect wings instead of the valley below, she'd gone too close to the cliff, and he'd been unable to reach out when she walked over the edge. The story was a huge success, and the boy began to question the wisdom of having his sister hide until evening. People came forward with sweets for the boy who'd lost his sister, and those who normally shoved him as they passed on the trail were suddenly solicitous.

When the story earned him more sympathy than he deserved, he spread out a thick blanket in which to tie up the entire family. He said his father had been was working at the brick kiln when fifty thousand red-hot bricks fell on him. He was cooked to death instantly. That sounded legitimate to him, and, because the kiln was the biggest employer in town, his latest lie garnered even more attention. Before the hour was out even those who asked why no one else had been notified about such a catastrophe were silenced by the dread the boy had inspired.

Word was rippling around the town by afternoon, and like a stone thrown into a pool, he couldn't resist adding his mother to the pyre. She'd been the victim of a violent kitchen attack-since he couldn't imagine her outside the house-and had woken on the floor in a pool of blood. Some of it was from raw meat hung to cure, but she supplied the bulk of it with her body.

Such a garish story was sure to inspire even more appreciation, but the boy misjudged the tenor of the townspeople. The authorities from the city believed him. They looked at the red-eyed boy in front of them and believed that everything he said was true. They hugged him and encouraged him to join them in praying for his parents' passage. Even the sister was worth a few hugs from the mothers around him, although his fellow students saw what he was doing and complained.

Like adults everywhere, the other parents and police officers didn't believe their own children. While the other kids protested that the boy's father had been seen by the spring filling buckets with water and the mother was by the bakery eating a pastry with a solemn look on her face, the boy was settled into a truck and driven away. He was ecstatic. Preening over the success of his duplicity, he sat on the provided seat and began to plan his arrival. Before long he'd be raiding the fridge and playing games far into the night.

When the truck turned away from the main road he was too deep into his fantasy to notice, and when the tires fought with washboard and potholes, he sneered that the scenic route was wasted on him. He was checking his pockets for change to spend in the corner store.

Perhaps that's why he was horrified when the truck stopped and he was pulled from the bench by a long arm clad in rags. Although he knew little more about it than his sister's hints, he'd been taken to the mine. It was the final stop for orphans. On his way below, he peered between the elevator bars to see hundreds of children scrambling down dark tunnels and hauling up buckets of slimy water to be filtered for toxic chemicals.

He'd been so excited about his incipient freedom that he'd never paused to wonder what happened to children without parents. Because he was lying, he never wondered what truth would look like. Other orphans had disappeared from the village but he never thought about where they might be going. Instead, he pictured a life without scolding and schedules.

For the first week, he guessed his parents would rescue him once they knew, but that hope faded once his face was creased with grit and he ventured the opinion to others. Some of the younger children, who hadn't been as beat down by the constant torturous labour, merely laughed, while others looked at him with the passive indifference of a slug.

It was more illegal than not, the use of orphans. Although it was sanctioned at the highest level of government, they didn't appear on any official paperwork. In effect, he'd vanished as soon as he stepped into that truck. His parents thought he'd been kidnapped, the other kids told their disregarded version about the boy's lies, and the cops who'd negotiated with the mine had more spending money the following weekend. He died in the mines at twenty-two. As a supervisor.