The White Lie
She placed her hand on the book as he mechanically recited the oath. Her mind drifted, the sound of his voice fading into a scream. The sound of shattered glass and barbaric, inhuman grunts. The feel of brick and asphalt scouring her bare skin. The sweet smell of rot, the salty smell of sweat. The taste of blood on her tongue, the burn of vomit creeping up her throat. She assembled the lie from unrelated memories to give it weight and soul in the telling for the jury. He hadn’t done it, but what he had done was bad enough.