A Twist of Fate
Rich isn't me
I stood and watched the people mingle with one another. They all looked so fake. Their money is what did that to them. The women wore huge diamonds around their necks and the men wore expensive watches, weighing down their wrists. Their clothing was bought in Milan, and their faces and other fake body work was built in Beverly Hills.
It all made me sick.
I hoped that I hadn’t turned into this. A fake, arrogant, selfish woman was everything I kept reminding myself not to become. Of course, I was Mrs. Emily Bauer, now. I owned a 1.2 million dollar, photography studio, and I was married to a prestigious lawyer, who loved me very much. People love me. They love my work. I’m famous.
Why am I not happy?
“Oh, Mrs. Bauer.” A short, overweight woman waddled up to me, “I love your photography. It’s so abstract, and yet it has so much meaning.”
I looked upon the walls of the studio and saw the many works I had done. A tree in the middle of a vast field, a woman looking up to the sky in despair, and even a fire, ripping apart a book. These were the things that hung on the walls. How were they abstract? The woman was right when she pointed out the meaning thing, but, abstract?
I forced a smile on my face, “Thank you.”
She nodded and walked off.
I had only gotten into this profession because of the art involved in it. I never wanted things to go this far. I just wanted to take pictures.
My colleague, Sidona, walked up to me, “How’re you liking this opening thing?” She asked.
I looked at her and raised my eyebrows, “Get me out of here.”
It all made me sick.
I hoped that I hadn’t turned into this. A fake, arrogant, selfish woman was everything I kept reminding myself not to become. Of course, I was Mrs. Emily Bauer, now. I owned a 1.2 million dollar, photography studio, and I was married to a prestigious lawyer, who loved me very much. People love me. They love my work. I’m famous.
Why am I not happy?
“Oh, Mrs. Bauer.” A short, overweight woman waddled up to me, “I love your photography. It’s so abstract, and yet it has so much meaning.”
I looked upon the walls of the studio and saw the many works I had done. A tree in the middle of a vast field, a woman looking up to the sky in despair, and even a fire, ripping apart a book. These were the things that hung on the walls. How were they abstract? The woman was right when she pointed out the meaning thing, but, abstract?
I forced a smile on my face, “Thank you.”
She nodded and walked off.
I had only gotten into this profession because of the art involved in it. I never wanted things to go this far. I just wanted to take pictures.
My colleague, Sidona, walked up to me, “How’re you liking this opening thing?” She asked.
I looked at her and raised my eyebrows, “Get me out of here.”