Much of life is pretense, no not your life, but mine, and no not always.
I sit there with a well honed practiced smile masking the shooting pain radiating up and down my spine. I answer question after question while inner turmoil swirls throughout my mind. I’m worried that the thin veil of perspiration forming over my top lip and the pulsating redness washing over me will give away my secret.
Just when I think it is almost over I’m faced with a second round of questioning. I’m so out of practice and my fear is that my armor will once again crack. The pain is unbearable and I think passing out could soon look like an enticing option.
Once again my focus is channeled to the inquisition, my smile still pasted on. I am a major league class A faker. The Great Pretender. I don’t know how I did and quite frankly part of me doesn’t give a care. I should care but I am not rational at this point.