A Bad Habit

When I was younger, I used to tell lies to make people panic and laugh at them. However, an incident happened two years ago which made me kick the bad habit.

The afternoon, I thought I was alone at home. Taking out a big empty tin, I put it near the door and burnt some papers in it. The smoke of the flames was blown out to the corridor by the breeze. Hoping that the smoke would fool my neighbors, I started shouting, “Fire! Fire!”

I hid behind the door to see what the fierce fat lady next door would do. To my surprise, I heard a loud “bang” coming from my bedroom, followed by my granny’s cry. I rushed into the room and saw her lying on the floor, holding her left arm and groaning in pain.

The fat neighbor heard the cry and came in. She immediately sent my granny to the hospital. I went along. The doctor told us that my granny had fractured her left arm.

I felt very guilty. If not for my lie, my granny would not have jumped out of bed, knocked against the table, fallen and fractured her arm. I was severely punished by my dad. Since that incident, I have never told a lie.