Hush, I said there's more to life than rush. Not gonna leave this place with us.Drop the game, it's not enough. -Drop The Game by Flume Chet Faker.
Spencer doesn't dream anymore, not since the dollhouse with it's confining walls and twisted mind games.
It's almost like she's on Adderall again, restless without merit, impulsive beyond reasoning.
She runs laps around this tired town, spying Jason washing his car and Emily reading a book on her porch.
Like everything is normal, and she yearns for some kind of release from the illusion they're all once again forced into.
The people will have what they want though, so Spencer just adjusts her headphones and turns the volume up.
Truth's gonna come out, someday. It's gonna wipe that smile right off your face.
They don't watch the news, if anything happened there'd be police at their door steps long before it's on the television.
Still Spencer knows Aria can't stop herself from reading the newspaper. The small brunette talks about their monikers over stolen wine.
"Pretty Little Liars, they call us" Aria says, taking a large sip from the glass. "Can you really blame them?"
No, Spencer thinks. They really can't, can they, but when did that stop them from blaming them before.
After all, the kind of lie that liars ought to be the best at is doing it to themselves.
(The reason that Aria is the best liar among them is because she knows she's lying to herself but does it anyway)
None of them talk much anymore, the sight of each other's faces brings up memories that they'd all like to forget.
They had done some terrible things in that bunker. They had hurt each other without a choice, and a very few times quite willingly.
Spencer can still feel the sting of electricity as it rushed through her bones. The only thing worse was the screaming of those close by.
She knew they weren't good people, but did they really deserve this? Not that it really matters, did Shana deserve to die, did Bethany?
Maybe, and maybe. There will always be more to the story then they'll ever know. Fables that are better untold.
(Things that they'll take to their graves, as soon or as late as that may be. After all, dead men tell no tales)
But, Spencer learns, nether do the living, not unless it's a exquisitely crafted story.
(As they say, you're always better off with a really good lie. Telling the truth to the wrong person can get you killed)
(Or worse yet, where they are, well know troubled kids who can't even trust their own kind)
The truth may give you hope, but all hope does is breed eternal misery.