I locked myself in my room hoping to escape from the terror waiting for me outside. A barrage of questions formed behind the door, questions I didn't know the answers to. What were they doing at my place? Surely they're trespassing. I don't want them in my house.

They quieted down. I peered through the bronze keyhole and was surprised when I was not the only one doing so. "They're going to leave sometime. They've got to leave." I thought to myself.

My heart was pounding furiously, just like the people had done when she saw my eye. Her eyes were mesmerizing. The long lashes accentuated her deep blue eyes. I momentarily drowned in them but fear was the much stronger force in this battle.

Maybe Flounder's made some sort of deal. But that's impossible, nothing would blow up this big this soon. They've got to have the wrong person. I'm just a low-life writer who can barely write.

Shit. I just realized I didn't for grammar mistakes in A Cheesecake, Tablecloth and a Long Lost Brother. They're so going to drop me. I shouldn't worry about that now, I was in the middle of telling you a story.

So, I decided to man-up. What's the worse they're going to do? Pierce me with their iron pens? Highly unlikely but the thought did cross my mind but I quickly rid of it.

I reached for the bronze door handle and tilted it slightly. I pulled it open quickly hoping someone resting on the door would drop down and ease my nerves. Nobody fell...

The photographers quickly let out their flash and an onslaught of questions were thrown at me. "What were you thinking when you jumped in to save that little girl?"

"That?" That's what they wanted to know. Why they didn't say that earlier? I don't know. All I knew was that I, me, this guy, was being mistaken for some sort of hero.

I don't know what it was, maybe it was a rush of adrenaline but all I know was that I answered the question with "I was only thinking of the little girl."

It took a full second for me to realize what I had just said. It didn't seem too bad at the time, I thought I fell into character. But thinking about it over and over again made me believe myself to be a pedophile.

I really hate it when I do this. Over-analyzing menial actions like these. Well, this wasn't really small. I had just lied to a group of journalists and photographers.

My face is on the front of the newspaper. You can see here.

I didn't really remember much after that. I know I answered a couple of other questions, I just can't seem to point my finger at one. It doesn't matter anyway 'cause I made this all up. Haha! Sucker! I'm not a fucking writer. I'm a fucking plumber from Costa Rica.

What does it matter? It's all just a lie we all tell ourselves. I've lied to so many people I've become this one big entity. I'm neither here nor there. I'm neither not nor am. I believe in only one thing, and that is that I'm a liar.

I only hope to be praised for this work in further expanding this lie. I know you won't and if you do I'll know you don't.