In the morning I and mum went to grandma’s and there M. asked me:
-Did you check the Facebook since the morning?
In my head flashed Ni Ck – the name of my other FB profile.
There I sinned. I repented as soon as I realized it, but it was late, he have already said something else. Why I did it?
The truth was I did open facebook.com before I went to their house, but I did it secretly, without mum knowing of it. I was writing in my diary while my PC was on the ground. I turned on the computer and I checked what I wanted and then opened Facebook. I quickly scrolled to pass the unseen news and I wanted to go to Ni Ck to play Hidden Chronicles, but I heard mum, so I put it to sleep.
If I said Yes, mum would have possibly asked me “When?”
I was led by the rule we learnt Sociology, that was practiced in the primitive society: Whatever you do, it is OK as long as nobody watches you. But God was watching.
It happened so fast. I thought or I wanted to think I only opened Ni Ck. However, viewing the situation from another perspective: he didn’t say which Facebook profile. He may have thought of his. If it was like that, I didn’t lie.
Everytime when I remembered about the event while being there I blinked. I couldn’t believe I broke one of 10 God’s commandments.
I tried to remember when the last time I lied was. The first thing I remembered of was in 7th grade when I said my family somebody stole my home-made toast on P.E. and I fake cried, but later revealed it was a lie. Another time when I told Mary I had no proofs that God exists. But it wasn’t a lie (from a point of view) because she wouldn’t have understood everything we see as proof.
And one without doubts: On the excursion in Italy, in Venice I lied Tailor I liked the pizza when she asked me. She was a stranger to me, I couldn’t be so sincere.
On the other side he lied me that he bought me a mouse and it was a conscientious lie. Like he was proud of it. Another sin.
When we returned from grandma’s just before I entered I saw the Devil.
In the morning M. came and mum asked me what is that on my mouth. I touched it and I said “I don’t know”. A lie again. But I had no better answer. I think M. kind of smiled. He knows I cut my moustache? He said:
-Well he scratches himself all the time – as I had a habit to scratch my skin under my hear when I was nervous. The thing was over. Thank God.
Later I saw the Devil again. He met a kid on the street and called him a “roommate”. From the football, I guess. In the end the kid said to him: “Don’t fuck me up”. Looks like the Devil was dominant in that relation.