Drabble #6

The young girl hides, sneaking cigarettes in her old tree-house, watching dark silhouettes in the window, illuminated by flickering candlelight. Philosophical nothing tossed imperiously across oak tables and old wine. The chill creeps in through her jacket and the sound of her shaking breath is loud in the silence. Raised eyebrows and overbearing smiles. She wonders when she will become that person, educated and superior, with a taste for expensive drinks and designer shoes. She promises herself, with youthful naïveté that she will never become her parents. But she is old enough to know a lie when she sees one.