The Truth Knocks

Will the truth cast the first stone?

When the truth knocked, Dan answered the door in his shorts. He was sort of hoping it was his new girlfriend but he wasn’t that far gone. He knew a new girlfriend was a fantasy he had picked up on TV.

Much like an unwanted bill collector, the truth stood grim. Again. And yet Dan couldn't just close the door in its face. He had read somewhere that to kick the truth out was like turning away a hungry cat.

What's doing? he asked in an effort to be polite while at the same time wishing the truth would say something like oops sorry wrong apartment looking for Godot and be on its way. But the truth just stared at him until Dan started to twist his back from side to side in the pretense he was easing a kink.

Alright, said Dan after a moment of silence, if you've got nothing to say, you’ll have to leave now. I'm busy. Lots of important stuff to do.

But even as the words took flight from his mouth Dan knew they were fledglings that couldn't stay aloft, especially weighted as they were with seeds and sands of lies.

Another round of silence. The truth looked at him with the face of a poker player who may have a dud in his hand if you're living on corn chips and wishful thinking but more likely delivers his blows like a pro who just returned from Vegas triumphant.

Dan sighed. Okay, he said. I'll give it to you straight. I'm not the man I pretend to be.

The truth regarded Dan with an imperceptible nod that seemed to say go on.

But who among us hasn't assumed a role? Will the truth cast the first stone? Have I harmed the truth? Have I committed a crime against veracity?

The truth regarded Dan with another imperceptible nod that this time seemed to say yes indeed.

Dan took a deep breath, exhaled. Listen, he said. Let’s agree to call it positive thinking, okay? Let’s let it go at that. Everybody does it.

The truth stood silent and still.

Go away now, said Dan. I want to dream of productivity.

The truth turned and Dan closed the door gently as if not to wake a baby.

In the kitchen the coffee pot gurgled and Dan pulled his favorite mug from the cupboard. Maybe another cup would help him reach his potential. It couldn’t hurt. He wasn’t ready to submit to the truth, but he wasn't ready to kick its revelations down the stairs either.

---

And there you have it friends

And thank you for reading Dynamic Creed. If I may be so bold, I’ll say we probably all have a bit of Dan. By all means feel free to let me know what you think below in the comments. All right then, back to my dreams of productivity. And my coffee.

Wait. Before I go, if you are new here, a big hearty welcome. Here’s a couple of stories you ought to check out. Thanks again! Victor David

Plenitude

Victor D. Sandiego

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Mar 21

There he stood, Simon Favela outside in the rain, looking up to clouds with no expectation of bread. None at all. He had hunger but bread didn’t fall when clouds rolled with rain. Bread only fell on clear days into arms and baskets of people who lived only on bread. Good bread and vital.

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Terminal Los Angeles

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Night. He pushed the old car hard for the shipyards. Missed an onramp out of San Fernando, dropped onto the streets of Van Nuys. Rushed when he could down the carchoked boulevard. At stops his redlight brakefoot edgy, eager to free the engine from its idle.

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The Passages of War and Sickness

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His beliefs are living beings, Holden says, talking about himself again. At first they fall as impoverished angels into his eyes as dawn paints the window reddish. Then they lather his daylight with hard thoughts of who should receive a suggestion of death and who a short sentence of life. They tumble into the crevices of his doubts, clamoring with thei…

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