It’s sickening. Just look at them, all these relatives stuffing their faces and talking over his back; smiling their fake smiles with their perfect teeth and fake lashes… The men wore fake leather shoes and fake watches. They were all fake. God must’ve put a trick on him by setting him upon this earth with these people.

His parents were like that, his uncles, cousins, everyone was fake. Even their kids, and his own too, were fake. What’s so good about being fake? He chose to remember his wife differently, although she was fake too. People are fake, that’s the gist of it, and there’s no avoiding it.

It’s Christmas and the entire family was over in his big gloomy house in the middle of nowhere. He tried to make it warm and nice with a bunch of fires; he even ordered in a bunch of flowers to hide the smell, and to put color around the gloom, but all his efforts were lost on them, their hearts were both cold and blind. All they cared about was the food and drink, which was excellent! And the valuables, of course.

They were looking at his paintings, the swords over the mantel piece, the rug that they so carelessly stepped on. All of it worth… a lot, he supposed. He looked over all the guests and found that some had disappeared in the other rooms. No doubt rummaging through the bookshelves and desks, their heart skipping a beat upon finding a rare volume. Living long enough and most thing you own become rare, but not always valuable. He stepped up to the window, looked over the wilderness and noticed someone touching the walls, perhaps wondering if it’s in good condition.

I was a free man at last, for the first time in decades.

They’d watched me from afar for so long, then one day they just stopped, they’d given up, I’ve won! I didn’t notice, of course, until a friend told me who knew about these sorts of things. He didn’t tell me for free, though. I had to give him a case of beer and lend him my ear and listen to all his grief and guilt that he couldn’t share to anyone else but me. He knew I could keep my mouth shut. He was not a good person, I can tell you that much, but then again, neither was I.

He didn’t know what I did and he didn’t bother asking; it’s always smarter to keep your nose where it belonged unless you were asking for trouble. It hadn’t been an easy decade. They hold grudges for a long time around here, but luckily there is law, at least the honor code kept me safe. They got nothing to pin me on, my work was clean. But they knew it was me, of course it was me. I’ve worked for them for so long… How could I not know about the thing? I hid it in a very good place and they were waiting for me to check up on it. I never did. I got more patience than they but I was damn near sick of pretending at one point, so much so that I had to live the lie, believe it was real. That’s what good liars and scoundrels do. The only problem was that I pretended so well that I forgot what I stole. The thing is all I remember. I know where I put it: in the western edge of town between two fields on the 7th tree… But those directions were useless now, so much had changed.

It would take a while to pinpoint exactly where I put it and farmers are very watchful of their property so I couldn’t just start digging without causing suspicion. I know Alisson would’ve loved to see what I hid, but she’s dead now. I don’t even care anymore, frankly. It’s not all that valuable, I think, at least not to the amount of effort that it took to take it. Maybe if I could sell it without digging it up? If I could somehow prove what I have… if I could keep my identity a secret… Ah, what a headache.

But at least it was exciting for a little while and I did get away with it. So that must count for something, right?