All Falls Down by Kanye West is the song I was given, and wrote this piece
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[Images taken from Google, Edited by Piarvé]
All Falls Down
Jayda Peal had a beautiful smile, ‘she’s so confident’ the women taking a glance would whisper to their girlfriends, the ones with their men around would be saying it in their heads, making sure their partner isn’t thinking the same thing. Jayda always wore the best names, with a body which made the outfit look better than the camera could ever try.
Another evening with her man, who again was on everyone’s lips, he had a slick black tuxedo, contrasting he’s rose tinted skin; she had a cream chiffon dress complementing her chocolate skin. This time she was taken to he’s company dinner to celebrate a new product launch; it seemed the men worked so hard to achieve. Funnily enough only men seemed present at the little do, in their Armani and Tom Ford suites, the only women around were wrapped around the guys, they had ’date’ written all over them. Jayda could tell only those with enough cash to buy gold could afford to dine at this place. They entered the revolving glass doors, Jayda breathed in riches, clutched her partner tighter, as they stepped onto the soft velvet carpet leading to the lobby, which was dimly lit with power from the moonlight. Directed down to the glass staircase, a giant hall, more velvet, curtains and bows; gold chandeliers matching the table decor; simple abstract art scattered on the walls, framed in mahogany; champagne and wine, only the finest, lingered in the air; successful voices united as a hum. She smiled, as was required from her, he held her tightly, showing off he’s million dollar prize. They pecked each other every now and then; to everyone else their love seemed real.
Jayda always enjoyed a few glasses of wine, but she had learnt to control herself. Plus they had a few glasses for the after party, a regular occurrence, the two people party, once everyone had departed and said their goodbyes. Most girls would have to wait for a taxi, well a cab was cheaper, not her, her man had a Bentley and a chauffeur meaning at five in the morning they could ride home with a bottle of chilled champagne. He’s house was better, that’s right they didn’t live together. He didn’t seem to give her the choice of going home, not this time, sometimes her partner would. He’s head was in her neck, her mind didn’t like that, but her body and the wine were fighting for it, what is a girl to do when it’s 2 against one, her mind lost the fight that night.
£500 in her bra pocket, she stumbled back home. He didn’t see her leave, her head was pounding, but she’s made it home in that state before, she managed to find an extra £40 in her partner’s trouser pocket for the journey home. Men like him seemed to just be loaded with cash all the time. The normal people she knew use the bank, despite knowing their money is being borrowed to strangers, who remembers the recession? Jayda makes plans of how the rest of the day will go, well late afternoon. A mental list, remove the layers of make-up, down some paracetamol, strip off, then bed, and maybe she might wake up and cook herself a little something.
The above zaps her back to reality, from the envelopes she already knows what to expect. Bank statement, credit card, overdraft, overdue. House Bills, water bills, gas bills, not yet paid, not that she uses them much, money should be spent on other things. Doctors, maybe a check-up for her implants: contraceptive and breasts; or the counselling session she was advices after her marriage broke up a year on and she’s still picking up pieces. Young love ain’t real, a broke man isn’t worth the ring, especially if it’s drug money. She could see a letter from her agency, She-courts, these days she doesn’t seemed to be assigned to the money makers, lucky she got tipped for doing extra last night. No point opening bad news.
The house echoes as the click clocking of the heels contact the wooden stairs, it’s only her in the building, no need to close the bathroom door. The sight in the mirror is too painful, Jayda Pearl is transferred onto the make-up wipes, and standing there is a plain faced, imperfection called Olga, no colour to her lips, eyes sucked dry, at least the weave still looks like Jayda, but for some reason Olga just can’t rock it. The box of ibuprofen is easily at reach, it will do, two for the headaches, two more for the voices in her head and one to get to sleep. Olga will eat when she gets up, no need to strip, she can sleep in Jayda’s dress.
Story Mode by Piarvé Wetshi is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.