Snow Angels

Peasant of The Establishment

By Emma and Emily (Picture of Sophie)

I glare at my phone as it blows up. Hundreds of missed texts fill my phone, from my mom, dad, Maisie, Kendall, Savannah, Brooke, Lucille, Meghan... I could go on, but I'd get bored. I snort, before shoving the device back into the front pocket of my pale blue Prada.
I strut outside to wait for my Uber, pulling my phone out again to text my mother back, because when she gets stressed out, she bites her nails, and it's hideous.
A tap on my shoulder, causes me to almost drop my phone. I growl, whipping my head up so fast, the mystery person stumbles back.
I look the boy up and down. His pants are sagging so low, I can see his underwear, his bright red, sideways cap clashes horribly with his yellow tennis shoes, and his dull grey shirt has a noticeable brown stain on it. He grins at me, showing off his yellowing teeth, and squinting like he had something in his eyes.
"What do you want?" I ask politely with my saccharine laced voice.
"You," he said, as he ever so smoothly tried to lean on something, only to see there was nothing to support him.
"Yes, I'm sure you're tired of doing it yourself. It must be hard. No appeal to anyone. Not even boys. That's what comes with being a smelly old man."
He frowned, before stepping forward and placing a clammy hand on my arm.
"Don't be like that sweet cheeks!" he smirked, stepping forward again.
"I would slap you, but that would be animal abuse," I snarled, ripping away from him as the black über car pulled up, and marched away, satisfaction written on my face.
"My bag is here," I commanded, as I forcefully shoved the bag into the driver.
"Yes m'am," the guy nodded, before scurrying to open the door for me.
Inside, the furnishing is sleek. The seats are white leather and the car sported heavily tinted windows. The car was mediocre to me. Sure it was modern, but it had an incompetent driver and not enough space.
I sat down, the seat sinking down as I lowered my weight onto it and I soon heard the rumble of the engines, as we drove down the road, into the big city.
I watched the blurred scenery through
the window, observing the colors and their compatibility. I would take an astounding photo here in London and make it big back in America. I even made it to the New York Film Academy to chase my dream.
      "We're here m'am."
     I daintily place my hand on the driver's open palm as he helps me out of the car. Not that I really needed his help.
      There, in front of me was a skyscraper that loomed over all other buildings. To the common peasant, they might be intimidated, but knowing me, that was child's play.
      All my luggage was piled by the door, the five trunks my parents had shipped were all intact.
      The bell boy opens the door and I step into the building. It looked like most I've ever been to. Large, an expansive ceiling, and lots of staff running around or helping others.
      "Peasant of the establishment," I ordered, motioning to the bell boy. "Take my luggage up to my room."
      "Yes m'am, but which room might you be residing in?" he asked, as he patiently waited for my answer.
      "Top floor," I curtly replied, not expecting anything less from my parents abilities.
      I walk up to the counter to the lady dressed rather scantily for a peasant.
      "Penthouse. Two weeks," I demanded and held my open palm over the counter.
      "Here you go m'am," she cheerily replied, and handed me a key card.
      I walked over to the many elevators stationed on the wall and entered one.
      Once inside the elevator I push the penthouse button promptly before sliding the key in. The elevator makes a pleasant noise of acceptance before starting to head upwards.
      Not once did the elevator stop and I made my way up in peace, the supposedly calming elevator music, doing the exact opposite and irritating me far more than I thought possible.
      One
Two
Three
Oh, so this isn't going to work, I thought, as I sighed and mentally slumped my shoulders.
The elevator door jerked and opened, revealing my home for the next two weeks.
The penthouse had paintings framed and hung on the clean beige walls and a glass balcony allowing me to see the city. The rooms were decorated a bit too vintage for my taste, the colors together were all deep and rich and that made everything seem bland. It would have to do, I guess.
      I sigh, glancing briefly down at my pile of matching suitcases. I yank the hotel phone to dial room service so I can order more of these slaves around.