I Can't Stand a Liar

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Every day I'm out there on the front line. I like to think of myself as this school's defense. Against what? Liars. Children are sneaky. Maybe they always have been, but this crop.... Where did we go so wrong as a nation? How and when did we start churning out such lazy, amoral little lumps? So help me, I will never know.
I've had to be smart, you see. They're getting more creative and elaborate with their lies and manufactured diseases. That's what the internet does. It gives them access to too much information, if you ask me. They look these things up on that Web Doctor, or whatever it's called, and they think they know exactly what to do. They waltz in here, flash me their hall passes, and immediately start in with their script. "Oh, Nurse Mintner, this hurts! That feels tender! I think I'm going to throw up!" Balderdash! None of them are ever sick! Not a one! Straight back to class they all go. And if one really happens to be sick, oh well. Guilty until proven innocent! He can thank his dishonest classmates for that!
Even in the face of such diligence on my part, they seem to keep coming. Every day I get at least two down here in my office. They always want to go home. Anything to get out of class and get back on those computers in front of those video games, or what have you. I was ready to tear my hair out. There seemed to be no way of stopping them.
And then it hit me. Ooh, I thought to myself. That's good. Almost too good.
And now here I sit. I must admit, I'm a little nervous. We're already halfway through the morning and not a single student has come through my door. I didn't think I'd be this impatient, this... excited.
Tap, tap, tap.
My goodness! Someone's here!
I clear my throat. "Yes? Come in."
The door creaks open and a diminutive figure steps inside. It is Jennifer Carson, a "frequent flyer." I swear she's in here every week claiming something or other to be wrong with her. For the first time since the school year began, I'm glad to see her.
"Ah, Jennifer," I say. "And what is it this time?"
She clutches her abdomen with both hands---an award-worthy performance. "It's my stomach, Nurse Mintner."
I take a deep breath. "Oh, really? And what's wrong with it?"
She staggers toward my desk and takes a seat in the chair opposite mine. "I'm nauseous. I feel like I'm going to throw up. I should probably go home...."
"You feel like you're going to vomit?" I correct her.
She nods emphatically.
"Well," I say, rising from my seat. "I think I have just the thing." I make my way to the cabinet on the far side of the room. The door slides open with ease, as if the universe itself were telling me the time is right. I pick up a small bottle and pour out a spoonful of its contents. "Let's see what this does," I say, as I slowly approach the girl.
She eyes me suspiciously. She's right to, but she swallows my offering none the less. It goes down with apparent ease, but this is just the calm before the storm.
I watch as Jennifer's eyes grow wide. She yelps and clutches her stomach. This, I know by contrast, is genuine. Before my very eyes, the retching begins. She practically leaps from her chair and shambles to the center of the room. It's as far as she can get before the sloshy contents of her stomach gush forth. I knew such a plan would leave my office in ruins, but honestly, I'm impressed. Who would have thought such a little girl would have so much inside of her! It seems to come from nowhere. As she drops to her knees, the flood continues. Coughs, heaves, and sobs all mix together as the sickly fluid's color shifts to red. Even as the bursts become pure crimson, they don't stop. Only when she has fallen, face down and twitching in a puddle of her own bloodied bile, does the room fall silent.
I can't stand a liar. Now, as I bask in the satisfaction of what I've done, I can rest assured that I've made an honest little girl out of Jennifer Carson, and that her classmates will likely think twice before trying to put one over on the next school nurse.
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