Sweet Voices from the Lie School..!

With the internet reigning supreme and the media slowly moving into petrified silence, leaders the world over, find that telling a lie convincingly, makes it believable. “People don’t know what to believe anymore!” said a teacher who worked in a newly begun school for liars, “So we teach leaders to lie so convincingly, it becomes the truth! First the uttered lie is washed thoroughly of any extra trappings, like filthy words or tone, then we add spoonful’s of convincing rhetoric, a touch of genuine voice, gentle hand gestures, and voila, this mixture brings immediate belief!”

“So why open a school, open a Lie Factory!” I said scornfully.

“No product is good, unless the producer is perfect!” said the teacher, “Here we train leaders! Some who’ve passed out don’t even need to have their lies washed or repackaged, they have perfected the lie technique!”

We walked by a class and I found students glued to their teachers with fixed smile. “They are asleep!” said the teacher, “But have learned to keep their smile plastered on their faces as they sleep!”

“But the lecturer seems to be highly motivated and dedicated!” I said.

“No, he isn’t!” said the teacher.

“Look at his smile. Listen to his words!” I said.

“Those words are from the mask he’s been able to grow over his face. Now listen to what he is actually saying,” said the teacher removing the lecturer’s mask, and suddenly the air was filled with the worst obscenity and coarse language I’d ever heard. I saw the face behind the mask, cruel, filled with hatred and bias, looking at me with loathing and anger.

“Let’s get away from here!” I whispered.

“It’s okay,” said the teacher, “We’ll just put his mask back again. Now look at him!”

It was the most angelic, cherubic face I’d ever seen, and the words uttered were like sweet honey. But I turned away with fear. I had seen his true self.

“And that’s the true self they are taught to hide!” smiled the teacher.

“I wouldn’t like to ask you to reveal your true self!” I said looking at him, and for a moment I heard a snarl followed by a growl, and the distinct noise of a wild animal pawing the ground. But it stopped, as the teacher got control of himself.  “Would you like to see the trustees?” asked the teacher sweetly, as he led me to a glass cabin.

I looked in and saw a seventy-seven year old American with a now infamous blonde hairstyle, talking animatedly to different faces I recognized. The talk was being translated by a bald Russian, who’s movements showed a leaning towards judo, and also translated into Hindi, by a man with a sweet voice, saying ‘Mitron!’ gently into the mike.

All their looks were so pleasant to the eye, except their growing noses..!


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