Never Ending Short Stories - Tasha (phonics books TXT) 📗

Some may not have been as lucky as Benji. Some have died hanging on a wire. Some died with burnt legs. All died liars.

This is a story about lies and the people who tell them. After you read this, you’re going to wish that you never lied. If you’re thinking that you never lied in the first place, well, that my friend, is another lie.

There once was a girl about your age, dear reader. There was a boy too, also your age. This girl and this boy were identical twins. They did everything exactly the same, except lying. The girl was a master at lying, while on the other hand, the boy never told a lie. The girl was known as Angie, and the boy was known as Benji.

One day Angie saw Benji sneaking a chocolate chip cookie. Let’s back this story up a bit. First of all, their mother baked a batch of chocolate chip cookies and told the children to not touch it until they’re cooled off. The cookies had to be cooled off for 30 more minutes but in Benji’s mind he thought ‘Why should we wait when the cookies are already ready? That’s a stupid rule.’ Angie was also thinking this thought but she was born a minute earlier than Benji, so she knew that good things came by waiting.

Thirty minutes later mom walked in the kitchen and shouted “Cookies are all cooled down now!!” In that exact same instance, she noticed one missing. “Angie! (Angie’s name always came first since she was the first-born, and never let anyone forget it.) Benji! Get in here now!!” she yelled furiously. The twins came racing down the hall. “WHO?! ATE?! A?! COOKIE!?!?!?!?!” her screeching voice pierced through their skulls.

“Benji did mother,” “Angie did mother,” replied both of the twins at the same time. “Liar!” they shouted at each other. The children stared at their mother. They knew how much she hated when they lied, well, when Angie lied.

“Don’t lie to me Angie! I know it was you!”

“It wasn’t me mom!” screamed Angie.

“We’ll see. Both of you open your mouths.” Their mouths dropped open and before they knew what was happening she was already inspecting Benji’s mouth. “Ben. Ben, Ben, Ben, Ben, Ben. Did you take one of my chocolate chip cookies without permission?” she asked in a sweet voice.

“Yes, mother. I didn’t see the reason we had to wait!” Benji cried.

“You had to wait because the flavor had to set in, it was too hot to eat, and because I TOLD YOU TO!”

I’m not going to describe all of the disgusting details that happened next. I’m just going to say that 2 hours later Angie was inside snacking on cookies. Some kids were walking outside on the sidewalk and heard moaning and whimpering. They looked up and saw poor Benji hanging on a telephone wire with his pants on the ground in ashes. Today he decided to wear his elmo underwear too, how embarrassing.

“What happened to you,” asked one of the kids.

“I lied,” Benji answered.

“Liar! Liar! Pants on fire! Hanging on a phone wire!” they chanted over and over.

You should be glad to know that Benji eventually got down from the wire, and his mother never did anything that horrible again because the twins never told another lie. Well, at least, not to their mother’s knowledge.

I am sitting in Agent Keith’s office writing what happened. They want to know how I found out my Aunt was a killer. They also want to know where my father is. I cannot provide them with this information, yet.


“Hello, dear niece. I have searched long and hard and have finally found your whereabouts. I wish I could tell you this in person, but as it is, I cannot. I need you to do me a favor. I wish to speak with your father but I do not know where he is. I need you to tell him that I might die soon and he has to take over. Do not ask questions. This is vitally important. Do not bother to try to find out where I am located and do not reply to this message. Do not trust anyone that asks you too many questions. Do not show this message to anyone. Not even family. They cannot be trusted. In fact, when you are done reading this, I need you to burn this note immediately. That is all. This is probably me saying goodbye to you forever,” I read this note repeatedly, silently to myself. I did not burn the note immediately. To tell the truth, I did not burn it at all. I would have burned it if I knew what would take place in my life afterwards.

The day I got the note, I had mixed feelings. I have not seen my uncle or my father in years. My uncle left the city of Miami when I was 12 years old. I have not seen or heard from him since, until now. My dad went into hiding 4 years ago (I do not know why), when my mom died a mysterious death. I still do not know, to this day, what caused her death, and it haunts me every time I close my eyes. The only family members I am still in touch with are my aunt, and my grandpa, both on my dad’s side.

Before I get more into this, let me tell you more about me. My name is Talia Oso. I was born on January 19, 1992. The day that note was sent was my birthday. It was the first letter of communication I had received from my uncle so I read it. I wish I did not. I am currently 20 years old and attending Florida State University. (How my uncle got hold of what college I was enrolled in I never found out.) My looks are pretty average. Sleek black hair, eyes and skin the color of milk chocolate, lips that need a bit more gloss to it, and skinny. My aunt says I look just like my mom, and according to my old photos of her, it is true. I have a photo of her, my dad, and me when we went on vacation to SeaWorld under my pillow. I like to gaze at it in the darkness of the night. It comforts me to see what used to be, and how happy I was.

I searched ‘where is Miguel Oso,’ my father’s name, on my laptop the next day. I was sitting at a table in Starbucks when I felt a soft tap on my shoulder. “I know where Miguel Oso is,” whispered a voice as I looked behind me. I gasped. It was my aunt. She put her finger to her lips and led me out the glass doors of the coffee place, to her car. We got in. My aunt typed 1434 Gates Lane. I glanced a questioning look at her. 1434 Gates Lane was where the old cemetery was located. She ignored my look and drove off toward the direction the GPS took her. I clicked on an article on my laptop. “Miguel Oso has disappeared off the face of the Earth the day his beloved wife, Martina Oso, passed away 4 years ago, leaving his brother’s wife to take care of his 16 year old daughter. We do not know what caused Martina’s death. Miguel Oso was last seen talking to his sister-in-law. A neighbor witnessed this conversation happen. She was later on questioned for the disappearance and death that took place. She did not want to cooperate, and investigators threatened to take her to court but eventually left her alone due to other cases,” the article said.

“Let me see the note your uncle sent you. Do this and I’ll take you to see your father,” my aunt told me. Immediately, I knew. I knew my father was being held against his will. I knew who his captor was. I knew who killed my mother. I still didn’t know the business about my uncle, but I did know I had to get out of this car, and fast.

“I burned it,” I replied.

“No you didn’t. I was watching you ever since it was delivered,” she said.

“I left it at my house,” I said. She looked annoyed then turned around.

As this little conversation took place, I was emailing my friend. “Help! Aunt is psycho! Get cops to my apartment! Tell them it is an emergency dealing with a loose killer. Don’t ask questions, it’ll take up too much time. Just hurry, please!” I wrote. I was lucky she was online too. If she wasn’t, I can’t imagine what would have happened. She replied a simple “Ok” and went offline. I trusted her to get me out of this mess and she did. Fifteen minutes later, my aunt drove up to my apartment door. She pulled me out of the car and dragged me inside only to find five police officers standing in the living room, guns pointed, and I hope, fully loaded. She turned around and tried to run but there were five more behind us. “You’re under arrest for the kidnapping of Miguel Oso and the murder of Martina Oso. Put your hands behind your back. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be held or used against you in the court of law.


That is what happened. Need I describe all the details of the police taking her, me eating dinner then going to bed with cops patrolling the outside of my apartment building, and the next day where they took me into Agent Keith’s office to write everything I knew? I need not. I can’t even go back to the University now. They said they could not deal with students that were exposed to the law, even if the students did nothing wrong. I end this paper frustrated and wishing I knew where the future would bring me. Maybe I need to see a psychic.