[ WP ] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar 's body . The bigger the lie , the deeper and larger the mark . One day , you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen .

Susan always had a way with words. She was the type of writer who could give a semicolon a personality, she was that great! My arms and legs were riddled with scars, but her ebony skin had always been clean from marks. It's because she always had a way to tell the truth, but tell it in such a way that you would n't realize what she meant. 
 
 For example, one time she had forgotten to do her homework and when called on she sheepishly told the teacher that she had n't figured out the problem. Not that she could n't but simply that she hand't. 
 
 When people asked her if they looked nice in particular clothes, she would either tell it straight or compliment individual features of the clothes- that girl was amazing! She helped me to get my way through school and taught me how to write better ( hopefully it worked ). 
 
 Susan and I did n't speak for many years. During this time, I heard small whisperings that Susan was n't doing well but that she would n't identify what was wrong, and weasel her way out of any scenario she found herself in by sheer tongue twisting. No one could figure out what was wrong. And her unmarked flesh became a sign of health to some, and a worry for others. 
 
 The last day I saw Susan, she made a fatal mistake. She mixed up her words, and lied. 
 
 I was in town again for a New Year's party when I saw her familiar black hair through he crowd. I went to say hello and her appearance made me speechless. Her ebony skin had grayed out and her hair was thinner- even her once manicured nails were scraggly and unpolished. 
 
 `` Susan, what's wrong?'' I asked. 
 
 She smiled wide, `` Why Martel, whatever would suggest that I am not alright?'' 
 
 `` Well, your appearance.'' 
 
 She sighed, and looked back at me, `` Do n't worry hon, I'll live.'' 
 
 Instantly, the horror spread across her face alongside the scar across her back. It created a deep hollow from her back to just across her collarbone. The skin was crinkled and sore looking. 
 
 `` I have to leave!'' She shouted. She bolted out of the room, her close friends chasing after her. 
 
 The next day I found out the news. Susan had killed herself that night. The preparations she made took months to complete. The party was her goodbye to us.
