The Trouble With The Truth Novels & Stories

"But I’d rather not wait to find out." He studied me for a moment before shrugging. "There’s one way to get your answer, sweetheart. You’d just have to ask him yourself." "You make it sound so easy." I said, rolling my eyes. "It is. Go in there, demand the truth, and if he lies, break his nose. Simple." I rolled my eyes again. "Violence isn’t always the answer, Alden." "Says the woman who acted like a tigress the first time we met."

He hadn’t touched the tea I’d ordered for him; his hands folded around the cup looked like they had already warmed to someone else’s trouble. “You're pushing a button and asking us not to look at the explosion,” he said. He was quiet, the kind of quiet that carries an edge. “I want the truth,” I said. “Not just to hand it to you on a platter, but to dig through the bones myself.” “You know how they’ll use you,” he said. “Not all truths become justice. Some become currency.” “And some become the rope you use to hang them,” I shot back. “I’ll take the risk.”

 Curiosity: The sad thing about it is the mesmerizing urge. The interminable doubt and the cast-iron certainty that only the truth brings peace. Only the truth can save the mind from cluttering into an entanglement and wrapping itself into the foils and claws of a mystery. Only the truth will unravel the mind which has become a slave to the hidden things.

He said in a dismissive tone. "Do you think you will ever even be able to pay back the money you took?" I asked again. "I will make a plan." He said in a rather defeated voice. I wanted to tell him that he could keep it as long as it made him worry less and as long as he needed it but I couldn't because then he could take advantage of my kindness so I kept quiet and still in my spot. His chin softly nuzzled my neck, it felt ticklish. His arms traced my curves, rubbing softly. It was comfortable. We kept quiet for a while, just enjoying each other's silence. I knew Eric was a troubled soul and I wanted to help him if he would allow me but his walls were higher than the Wall Trump planned on b

"In any war, truth is the first victim. Can you not see that? Could she not see it?" "Can you deny that Tina Davis was murdered because she was testing lies that reinforced the war struggle recovering than the facts would have done?" "I am saying," the Home Secretary said, "that the disparity between truth and lies is immaterial in time of war. True or false? Right or wrong? These questions are inconsequential now. It's all down to allegiance. Are you with us or against us? Surely you of can see that." "And anyone who isn't with you?" "-- is with the guerrillas and must be removed!" said the Home Secretary.

I sat with the tablet and the photograph and Claire watching me from the other side of the desk, and I tried to think clearly about a situation that was unusually difficult to think clearly about because the photograph was not wrong. Not in the way the caption implied — not calculated, not engineered. But it was true that there had been something real between us, and true that it had eventually become this, and true that anyone looking closely enough at the sequence of events could construct a narrative that was inaccurate in its framing and accurate in its instinct. That was the problem. A flat denial was a lie. A full disclosure was not something I was prepared to give to a financial blog

I leaned back in my chair and studied him like a problem I had already solved, but was willing to review. “And now?” I asked. “You want to switch sides?” “I want to tell the truth,” he said. “Even if it costs me.” “That’s convenient,” I replied. “I know,” he said. “But it’s still the truth.” I didn’t answer right away. Not because I was unsure, but because silence always made people talk more. Trent took a breath and pulled a slim flash drive from his pocket. He held it out like it weighed more than it did.

He wrote: Then tell me what I've missed. She wrote: You think the truth was a means. A mechanism for generating pressure that I could trade for money once the pressure was sufficient. But the truth was never a means for me. It is the end itself. It is the thing. The money is not a substitute for it because the money does not do what the truth does.

Elena set down the flash drive. "We're all terrible people." No one argued. "We've all done terrible things." Still no argument. "But we're still here. Still breathing. Still fighting." She looked around the room. "That has to count for something." --- Mira spoke first. "What do you want from us?" "I want the truth. All of it. No more lies. No more omissions. No more protecting me from things I already know." "The truth will destroy you." "The truth will set me free."

Both of them are catastrophic depending on their reactions, they were actions and by rule they had equal and opposite reactions. The first and the dredged one was to Point blank tell him the truth if I did. The simple truth to his question, a mono syllabic word, it's simple to pronounce. It'll take less than three seconds to mouth, but that's not the problem. Speaking the truth isn't the issue at this point, it's living and managing what comes next. Follow up questions. Doubting gazes. Suspicious looks. The human need for an explanation. All of which I'm not ready to tell, face, or admit.