The first thing Alison ever told me about herself was a lie. Lying was her oxygen. She could do it while she was laughing, she could even do it when she was kissing you.
That’s what’s remarkable about lies. How they can fool you, what they’ll become. Where they can take you. It all starts with one. No matter how simple, no matter how grand, a truly great lie can live on long after you’re gone. Surprising even its architect with the places it can climb — deep into our hearts, twisting into our souls. The fantastical places it can take you high above this world, far into another. Before ultimately crashing, the burn of the fire scorching anyone left in the way.
Such is the case of Alison DiLaurentis. A girl constructed by lies… held together by secrets. A life founded in fiction. Predestined for tragedy as fantasy and reality intertwined, forever blurring the lines of a life cut short. All of it adding to the allure of the girl… suddenly gone.
I often wonder what she thought, on that waning summer night, as the shovel came down. Slashing through skin, driving into bone. As the lights faded out on her mischievous game that she flippantly referred to as life. Was she scared as her body started to waver? As she stared up from the ground, as the sod began to surround her, as her lungs filled with dirt? Was she scared, or deep down did she know it was the only way it could have been. An unpleasant finish, but a captivating end. Or was it only the beginning…?
I wondered at the time, what would become of those she left behind. To her family and friends. To the ones she had collected along the way. When the trail for answers went…