658K 11.9K 11.8K

Open Your Eyes - Snow Patrol


Everything was the same old thing. A scene that had become so familiar that it was almost unnerving. The men were donning their finest suits whereas the women were in their couture dresses. They each held their noses up high - their personalities rude and stuck up, yet masked with an air of sophistication. Money and power was their main desire and top priority. It didn't matter what they did to receive it, as long as it was theirs.

I sat in an uncomfortable chair, in a dress that was too pink for my liking, sifting my fork through a slice of overpriced cheesecake, whilst counting down the hours until I could leave this place. I sat alone in a room full of people. My sister stood a few meters away. She was being held close by her boyfriend as they swayed to the sounds of the live band. She looked happy. She looked coming of age. Older. Wiser. It was hard to believe that my little sister was no longer five but a beautiful sixteen year old woman.

As I sit here alone, I watch the swarm of other sixteen year old girls. Their dresses are too white and too frilly. Their dates look too stiff and awkward in their dapper penguin suits. As much as they may have convinced them that they resemble a young James Bond, their body language resembles a young boy trying on their fathers tux. They look awkward and gangly. The girls look beautiful and grown. I felt uneasy watching them dance the night away.

I remember my debutant ball four years ago.

I thought it was the most important event that I would experience until my wedding day. You feel like a princess in your expensive white dress. The gloves that they give you make you feel royal, whereas the tiara gives you a hope that you truly were a princess. Every eye is on you as you float down the staircase with your escort latched to your arm. It is the epitome of grace and wealth. Being a deb is what girls long for.

My date was a total dork. A set up made by my mother. I knew that she meant well. But he was hands down the most awkward teenage boy that I had spent more than two hours with. Jonny Bradford. A sweetheart at best, but most definitely did not fit my definition of perfect date. His arms were lanky and so were his legs. His suit did not fit him and his hair was too short. He tried his best to be the "perfect date". I didn't care at the time. All I truly cared about was to "come out" to society and to claim my role as a mature sixteen year old woman.

Now here I was, twenty-one years old, a university graduate, alone at my sisters debutant ball. Many of the girls that I came out with were now married to their suitors. I couldn't be more thankful that I wasn't hitched with Mr. Four-eyed Bradford. As sweet as he was, we were not meant to be. I thank my lucky stars for that every day. Yet instead of being a twenty-something old housewife, with a little one on the way, I was a single graduate who was bored of her life.

Don't get me wrong. I am overly thankful for the blessings of my life. I was never hungry, cold, or homeless. I was always catered to by the best chefs and the most diligent maids. I finished high school sixteen and university at twenty. I was given everything (and anything) that I wanted on a silver platter. But here I was, in a Gucci dress that could feed a village in Africa, bored with this lifestyle. Maybe I was being selfish. Maybe I wasn't being thankful for what I was given and for the way that I was raised. But in all actuality, I was craving something more.

"Izzy!" I look up and see my sister. Her blonde hair pulled back in a low bun. Her dress fitting her tall model like frame almost perfectly. She looked happy and I couldn't help but smile back at her with the same amount of genuineness.

"Nat, you look beautiful." Her smile reaches her eyes as she looks back at me. "Where's Eric?"

"He's with the boys. I figured I'd let him go hang out with him for a bit. They went to smoke some cigars." She sits down beside me and grabs a flute of champagne. That was one thing that always bothered me about this high class society. They never cared if you were underage. You could get away with smoking cigars in a back room, or drinking champagne from a glass flute, and they wouldn't stop you. Money talked - it always did, and I was getting tired of it all.

Adore [H.S.]Where stories live. Discover now