The Lie

As was my custom, I’d risen a full hour before the house had woken to make sure that everything was in order with The Lie, his drip changed and his shackles all secure. I was by then so practiced in this chore I’d counted maybe thirteen years or more since last I’d felt the urge to meet his eye. Such, I liked to think, was our rapport. I was at full stretch to test some ligature when I must have caught a ragged thread, and tore his gag away; though as he made no cry, I kept on with my checking as before.