being rich - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The window is so large it reminds me of a store-front, but so high up who can see in anyway? It's triple-glazed and so clear that the panorama is like a high definition screen at the movie theatre. The birds travel past, buffeted by the winds that whistle through these towers, as if to remind us that we're in their space now. This real-estate in the sky feels so futuristic, I wouldn't be surprised if Terri just beamed herself in here right from the office. The city below is so far away it's like another world, those ant-like people and all their problems are of no more consequence than temporary static on the intercom. All this concrete is my cocoon and the window, well, the window shows me as much detail as I want to know.
The house is one of those ones rich people buy when they get paranoid about having too much money. It's like a fortress, tall gates with more security gadgets than a military compound. Perhaps behind those yellow bricks they feel safe from harm, but I can't help think they've only built themselves a beautiful prison. Either way though, it's none of my concern, I'm just here for the political endorsement Mr. Holden wants. So with a quick check of my hired suit I lean into the intercom and state my business. In moments a security guard is striding over the pea shingle, each footfall marked with a crunch. His weapon is holstered but his face is still serious. This is where he takes my identification and runs background checks.
The woman at the counter wouldn't have looked out of place in a school uniform, yet she was dressed in a casually tailored suit and her hair was salon-perfect. She had the air of one used to punctual service, her face poised to give her order and her manicured hand was already reaching into her leather handbag for a purse. He eyes flickered to the window more often than Charlie would have expected and so he followed her gaze, a jaguar F-type. Not bad. So she was a rich kid turned into a rich young woman. Perhaps he mused, he should introduce himself. Ordinarily he preferred latino girls, but maybe this blonde-chick could be fun for a while. He could almost taste the five-star restaurant steak as he made his way over.
Despite the crispness of the suit and the perfect tailoring the man inside wasn't far out of high-school. Against his smooth brown skin his black hair moved in the spring breeze. It was cold enough for some to be in winter jackets still, but he made no motion to suggest he even felt it. On his feet were shiny black shoes that Freddy couldn't imagine the guy polishing himself. At his side was a case in fine brown leather. So this was the guy he had to befriend and betray. Not hard. Kids like that were always lonely and bored, just had to find the right angle. And as for the betrayal part, he didn't see a problem with that. He hated him already.
The garment horse is finest mahogany, bespoke and carved by a master. There is nothing accidental about Aunt Delia's home. From the hue of flowers to the pattern of the oriental rugs, everything makes a statement. Though she will be out for some hours, I sit stiffly in the winged chair and sip politely instead of gulping as I do at home. My eyes keep going back to the garments that are almost certainly dry. The fabrics are finer than I can afford, even lying over the wooden frame they are beautiful.
At a time like this, an hour before curfew strikes, people stay in their homes, do the laundry or eat flashy cakes. Even the rich ones are risking their lives by joining the fuss outside, fully aware of what unfortunate events may happen to them. They could be robbed since they were flaunting their riches in every possible way, they were adorned in colorful bright dress robes, a multiple band of expensive rings they wore in each fingers, and tall brilliant hats to their liking, it was always easy to identify the wealthy and the poor; you could tell by looking.
We went from struggling to free of having to show up to work, it was like being handed the keys to your own jail cell. The house became classier, meals more opulent; nights out became whenever we wanted them, money no object. My hair became so pretty with weekly visits to the salon, nails and clothing too. We upgraded everything" car, appliances, schools... But there came a threshold at which life stopped getting better, the money was just digits piling up in an account. We couldn't make new friends anymore if they weren't rich and even then we were treated as new business contacts more than anything else...
Being rich was the goal but in reality it was empty box. When I could have anything I wanted nothing. The challenge was gone. All that was left was to make more riches I'd never spend, never need. The race was over, the champagne party a distant memory. Without the struggle life was one long Sunday afternoon... my most hated time of the week.
...Benjamin's hands were shaking and his voice quivered like a grass in the wind. "Martha, I had a dream. A most terrible dream. There was an angel and she told me to chose. To chose between being a master of hell or an equal shareholder in heaven. She said for the rich the time had come to choose which side of the line they stand on. Do you think it was just a dream?"