The Truthful Curse Of Agnus Greene

20250527

Prompt from DailyPrompt.com

Everyone agreed that it was a curse, though few came out and said it was a bad thing. But ever since Agnus Greene had cursed the town, anyone born in Withshim couldn’t lie.
Well. You got three. Nobody knew if Agnus had deliberately included leeway or if she hadn’t been strong enough to ban lying completely.
If you visited without knowing its quirk, you’d probably only notice that the folks here were far more prone to answering questions with “I don’t know” or prefacing statements with “I’m not sure. I think…”
It went deeper, however; lack of hyperbole and metaphor, and painfully limited storytelling, led to a very different manner of speech and seeing the world.
Naturally Withshim had no local theatre scene, nor did it produce fiction. And their politicians were remarkably boring, effective sorts. In fact, next to apples, parachuted councillors was the village’s main export. While they often lost to grandiose, charming non-cursed candidates, many across the country would swear by a Withshim-born councillor.
Agnus Smyth (no particular relation to the fabled Agnus Greene) was one of those aspiring politicians. Her qualifications were excellent: high grades in communication and debate, good people skills, an interest in life elsewhere, and she’d made sure to take jobs outside Withshim to get used to dealing with people who could deviate from the truth without even noticing.
But the confidence she’d held walking into this television debate had been swiftly eroded.
“So, according to your manifesto, you’re not actually promising to do anything?”
“Um.” Agnus blinked and looked down at her manifesto, which was foremost in her stack of notes. “In my very first paragraph I promise to work hard and do my best for the people of Glamshire, and to coordinate with the other councillors towards my campaign goals.”
“Yes, but you make no assurances that any of those goals will actually happen.”
“Well… I can’t.” That caused an eager stir, so Agnus quickly elaborated “All these goals require more than one councillor. I can - and do! - promise that if elected, I will try and get these goals to pass, but I can’t do it alone. They’ll need to elect other councillors who feel the same way about these issues.”
Her opponent tsked loudly. Reporters were scribbling. The cameras were all zoomed in on her. Agnus didn’t dare scrub her sweaty palms dry, and simply had to hope it wasn’t visible how her notes were wilting in her hands.
“And what about Glam Soda?”
“I… I’m sorry, I don’t understand the question.”
The reporter sighed heavily, as if she was being deliberately obtuse. “Do you deny that you’ve worked for them?”
“Uh…” Agnus fumbled through her CV. “Oh, yes, I did a summer internship.”
“Will that affect your treatment of local business?”
“No.”
They were put out at that.
“Of course,” her opponent interjected, “she can lie three times…”
“No, I squandered them all as a child.”
There went her first. But it took the wind out of their sails.

Prompt was “Write a story where people are limited to only three lies in their lifetime”.