A/N: A personal journal of my own about stuff that I think about with my demon. Like the summary says lol. This isn't actually a real story. Just a personal fictional journal. The length is how long or short it's going to be. No longer, no shorter. Sorry ;P


There is a single ability capable of being expressed by nearly every species known to humankind. It is capable of being both complex and simple at the same time enabling even animals to do it. Nearly everything can lie it is just the motive for the lie that separates man from animal. Humans lie for varying reasons such as simple white lies, lies to prevent harm, lies to preserve dignity, lies of love and hate and sorrow. Animals, however, lie more instinctively and their motives do not ever reach that of humankind's level. Dogs will hide objects they shouldn't have touched from their masters in hopes they won't be scalded. Any tamable beast will do almost anything to please his master. In reality humans and animals aren't all that different, so it seems.

Lies can also create and build things. A creature known in every culture known as a Demon is created from the emotions commonly felt by lies. A manifestation of guilt, regret, sorrow in the shape created by one's own imagination resides in every living human. The demon that fucks with your head so deeply it feels like your eyes will pop out of your skull. I join in his company welcomingly but not without a deep sickness in my gut and yet I find it the greatest drug in the world. My demon's breath is so sweet it's sickening. Like a woman who has sprayed a gross amount of your favorite perfume. It changes shape every so often personifying the emotion in my heart. "I lied," I tell him. He simply looks back with warm eyes and the edges of his mouth move ever so slightly upward. "Lies are the blood of the world," he says. Naturally one would think of red blood but my demon has said to me the blood of lies comes in many colors. Green, violet, red, pale or true blue, yellow, and orange are most common he said.

"Humans thrive on lies," he says. "Entire countries are founded on lies in the form of political corruption and crooked intentions and survive many centuries before shattering in a mirror image of empires long past." I think about this for a moment attempting to find a contradiction to his statement but to no avail. If it were not for lies entire civilizations would never have existed. "It's a vicious cycle," he says, "Every human, no matter how kindhearted, experiences the same feeling of lying. That moment of pure adrenaline, pure ecstasy, while watching the helpless victim clueless and unsuspecting of your actions. They believed it." He laced his fingers together and rested them on his knee indifferent to our topic of conversation. "And yet the irony of it all is," he says, "Is that humans every day use machines and technologies to prevent such lies. Pregnancy tests, blood tests, truth serums, all of these keep the truth in light. No one wants to be lied to. They all want to be the Liar."

I stare blankly in deep thought and hang on every word uttered from his mouth ignoring the lump in my chest. I remember when I told the lie. It was bittersweet. A kind of bittersweet that tastes like stomach acids teasing the back of your throat after you've ate too many sweets. "I could be lying to you right now," he says, "and you wouldn't even know it." A maelstrom began in me that moment. He was gone.