“Truth Be Told” by Shelby Nadon
2026 Short Story Contest
Honourable Mention
I always considered myself to be an honest person. Truth, as a premise, comes with the reputation of being innocent, forgiving, and honourable. The real truth is that honesty comes with sacrifice. Our lives changed when we could no longer lie or keep our truthful thoughts to ourselves.
The first day we recognized the change was when Mrs. Dohetry told her husband that she loved her children but regretted having them. She couldn’t believe the words left her mouth. The town joined in her confusion when a crimson ticket appeared in the mail. You are no longer permitted to have a relationship with your children.
There were fun revelations of guilty pleasures and harmless pranks along the way. But the bigger secrets always overshadowed them.
Rumors attacked our small town. Accusations of a brain disease, driving people mad. A mystery being delivering ominous tickets. My imagination swirled with all the chatter of a truth serum.
My wife of nine years cried when she told me that she hadn’t wanted to be with me for over a year. We lived a comfortable life, but apparently it was too safe. Her ticket came two days later. I read it as she packed her belongings. You are not permitted to keep your memories of Tom. I crumpled the ticket in my hand and felt my heart crush with it.
I learned so much about people that I have known my whole life. My best friend Todd was the one that stole that bottle from my dad at 17. You are no longer permitted to drink alcohol.
My younger sister had been hiding her sexuality. I hated that I made her feel that she couldn’t tell us. She countered that she wished she could have told us in her own way when she was ready.
We banded together to try and understand this development. Was it an airborne sickness? Was this blackmail from a powerful group?
The harder we pushed, the worse it got. Frustrations led to momentary truths of hatred. The tickets still came for those impulsive thoughts.
My neighbour Mary and I were both living alone, trying to mind our business. That was the only way we knew how to live without punishment. It turns out that we lied more than we realized.
We decided to brave the possibility of a hard truth, and have a cup of coffee together. I confessed how I didn’t understand why life seemed to be simple when I stayed in my house. “You aren’t lying to yourself,” Mary explained.
“I still haven’t got a ticket.” I admitted. Mary hadn’t either. We both chuckled over our thoughts of willingly telling people about the small thoughts we concealed. Our truths were never forced out of us.
“Mary, I think I like the world better like this.” I knew I was risking a ticket. I chose truth over punishment.
I went home and awaited my fate. But the ticket never arrived.
Over the next few weeks I grew close with Mary, sharing every dark thought that came to mind. The fear of the unknown was greater than any secret we could keep.
We still grappled to understand this destructive force, searching for patterns in the deliveries and clues within the tickets. The more theories we explored, the more lost we felt. Even through all the confusion, having someone like Mary by my side felt like accidental good fortune.
Silence became survival for most. For some, they were unable to manage the pressure.
A teen named Henry, who was known for his arrogance, was one of the first to break. I noticed the crowd before I heard his screams. He was kneeling in front of the grocery store, screaming what seemed to be every truth he could muster.
I was impressed that he dared to challenge the tickets and disappointed that it came to this.
The Farmer’s Market was a living portrait of our new reality. While the elderly gathered to talk about the weather and favourite memories together, the children occupied the empty booths and navigated their newfound transparency through play.
Mary and I stopped by a stack of mismatched gourds when I noticed my wife walking towards us. I prepared myself for the impact of meeting her eyes, but she looked right through me without a flicker of emotion for the years we shared.
Everything about her was different. Her confidence radiated from her smile, and her clothes no longer matched the portraits on our living room wall.
Mary distracted me with the task of carrying her new pumpkin for her porch. Our conversation on the way home was filled with both my anger and hurt. Mary comforted me and agreed, but her eyes told a different truth. I tried to steady my hands under the weight of the pumpkin.
“Hi, Todd,” I called, walking alongside his backyard fence. He waved and returned to happily playing soccer with his wife and kids.
I slumped next door after placing Mary’s pumpkin on her step, feeling all the self-pity I had been suppressing. I had just hit the bottom of my own porch steps when my breath escaped me.
A crimson ticket was hanging out of my mailbox.
My stomach dropped and I closed my eyes. I wondered what thoughts had betrayed me.
I started approaching it slowly, holding my breath, then grabbed the ticket like an execution notice.
Tom, you are permitted to love without fear. On the other side were the words: The truth will set you free.
I was captivated by the lack of punishment and felt foolish for my unnecessary anxiety.
Could the tickets also deliver rewards for honesty? I allowed myself a genuine smile for the first time in a while.
I thought about my sister, now openly herself. I thought of Todd, sober and apologetic, of a town that by accident learned to be free.
In the days that followed, I allowed myself to feel the peace of the reward. My stomach tightened at the thought of feeling the excitement of new love again. The cloud that was hiding the secrets of my marriage no longer haunted me.
I spent some time removing pictures and decorations that no longer brought me joy. Those belongings were no longer my truth.
When my house felt like a new beginning, I made my way over to Mary’s house to share my proposal. I learned to be slow and intentional with words and decisions, and these next words were crucial.
Mary answered her door quietly, greeting me with a warm smile. “Mary, what would you say to a party?” She gave me a puzzled look. I took it as a wholehearted “yes.”
By now, Mary and I had learned who was worth having around, and through word of mouth, we invited members of our community for a gathering at my house. Most were understandably hesitant; meeting everyone at the market for a weekly grocery run was a safer option than this. Ultimately, many agreed that we could not let fear keep us from life.
Mary and I made a day preparing snacks and music. I took comfort in the effortless way she danced around the house. She insisted on hanging streamers and buying fresh cut flowers for the occasion. I considered how long it had been since I had asked my friends about more than just the weather. Tonight, I would step beyond the safe topics and enjoy the truthful company.
My house had never seen this much life or laughter. Half the town was squished into every corner, drinks in hand, while light music bled from room to room. Glasses clinked and spilled over hugs, while Todd graciously helped me serve the snacks.
I was refilling the chips when Mrs. Dohetry’s three grown children came in together, followed by their mother. Confusion spread through mumbles and questions, we all remembered the ticket that shattered our town.
“Mrs. Dohetry, wow, it’s great to see you!” Mary wrapped her in a hug. Mrs. Dohetry smiled and addressed the room. “Well let’s get this elephant out of here.” She earned a quiet laugh. “After a lot of reflecting, I realized that I didn’t regret my children; I regretted all of the things I didn’t do when I had them.” We all nodded in understanding. “The next thing I know, another ticket was waiting for me. You are permitted to carry both truth and love.” Mrs. Dohetry shrugged and winked at her children.
I tried to hide my delight in sharing a rewarding ticket.
We started to learn that more people were receiving promising tickets. Some secrets could never be taken back, but we were finding our way back to some of the things we love.
After mingling through a maze of neighbours, we began to hear that nobody had received a punishing ticket in weeks. We were just now noticing it. It felt surreal, like a slow return to something we thought we lost.
Mary and I eventually gravitated outside, seeking the silence we were now accustomed to. From somewhere inside, laughter spilled onto the porch, unguarded and easy. I remembered once telling Mary that I liked the way our town was living. It was authentic and grounded.
After my moment of admiring the stars, I finally pulled out my ticket. Mary’s eyes stayed on my hands when she grabbed it. Her giggle surprised me. I didn’t know what to expect when she pulled out her own ticket. Mary, you are permitted to love without restraint. I had so many questions, but my gratitude outweighed my curiosity. I decided to enjoy our victory.
The tickets had taught us how to live; we just hadn’t noticed when we stopped needing them.