[UNFINISHED] Being poor isn't everything.

It's unfinished but here's the draft, I guess?

            Posh, is what most would describe her. Diamond earrings hung from her earlobes while a pearl necklace rested on her thin shoulders. She has never left the comforts of her luxurious home without being adorned in designer clothes, shoes and handbags. Behind the glitz and glamour hid a snobbish, selfish and wicked woman.

            Her only daughter, Andrea, was the exact opposite of her. Kind hearted, gentle and modest. Andrea was wedded a month ago to a poor farmer while she was away for a business trip during the special occasion. Andrea kept the special occasion a secret from her because she knew her mother would reject the whole thing. When she returned home, she found out because Andrea was nowhere to be seen in the 4 storey building which she calls home. She found a letter written by Andrea for her.

Andrea claimed it was out of true love but she had her own speculations. “How can my daughter, who gets whatever she wants immediately, stand being poor because of a man?” she snapped. Of course, it was irrational. “Andrea grew up, for 25 years, in a luxurious lifestyle and suddenly, all that power and wealth she had once had at her fingertips is now gone. How can I, as a mother, neglect this fact?” Andrea left the address at the end of the letter and by the end of the day, she was already there, looking at the old, shabby barn.

The windmill was broken, the silo had holes at the top half and wooden fixtures at the other, the red paint on the barn had visible peeling and to top that off, the only house she could see in the area was an old wooden house. The windows were broken and there was broken glass scattered all over the termite infested porch. The roof was made from scrap metal or something of similar kind. Rust had already formed and there were visible holes on it as well.

“Andrea, my poor baby girl. She must be living in utter hell right now,” she sobbed, “There’s even no signal here!”

She marched to the front door. There she was greeted by “guests”, cockroaches. How much she hated those pests. Icky, 6-legged and winged creatures that infests putrid wastelands like this house itself. Moreover, she despised the sight of these scums. She stomped her foot hard onto the creaky, rotting floor hoping to kill some but instead made a hole just right for her foot to get in, not out.

“Andrea!” she screamed, “Andrea! Baby girl! Come out here and help mommy! Mommy is stuck!”

Footsteps rushed to the front door but the person who opened the green door was not her daughter instead a young man. “I really need to fix this place soon,” he exclaimed. She stared at him, “Don’t just stand there. Get me out of here!” she snarled.

Author's Note

Ignore grammar problems/repeats/not "being systematic" (your own interpretation). Wrote this while I was sleepy. This draft will (or might) be taken down once the actual story is done.