Honesty - Short Story

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Honesty - Short Story

There once was a dank little village, with a great tree in the middle.

Orbiting the tree like a host of tiny planets were children, playing,

skipping and generally frolicking. The village was set on an

inordinately steep hill. It had a maze of roads spiralling off to

various different districts. There were two major sections in the

village: the rich part and the poor part. The poor part was a huddle

of terraced houses packed with families of troglodytes, each house

with a pinhead of grass to call its own. Windows were boarded over,

gates were rusted and broken and, as for cars, there weren't any

because the ignoramus children had poached them all. But in the posh

part of town the houses were giant, with huge forests in their back

garden and huge expensive gleaming cars smothering the driveway. And

in this part of the village lived Tom.

Tom was privately educated, 15 year old boy who lived in the posh part

of town. By every definition of the word he was posh. But Tom was

desperately grasping for acceptance among the poor people. He was two

faced; he even puts on a fake common accent to sound "normal" although

he actually sounded like a brainless imbecile. He lied about where he

lived and said he was brought up in the ghettos of the East End,

raised by a family of gangsters. But when he spoke to his family, he

spoke clearly and concisely and his etiquette was impeccable. He had

to lie till his underwear caught fire to keep up his appearance. It's

a difficult life being duplicitous.

One day Tom woke up ready to go out and see his friends, He had slept

in his clothes; to be able to jump up out of bed and slide down his

slippery polished oak banister and through the front door as quick

lightning. He leaped on to his bike and set off to a wobbly start. He

skidded around the corner insanely quickly almost being hit by a

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