Chapter 1.1- A house is not a home…

So, there she stood with the beautiful mountain backdrop of Oasis Springs behind her. The unmentionable starter home she had acquired with the measly savings of her handwork as a barista at MoonRucks had topped the rocky mountain canvas off. Melanie Avery had neither a pot to piss in, nor a window to throw it out of…literally. Her parents had finally kicked her out after her three-year refusal to attend college, and after her inability to secure a job within the allotted 4 year time-span she was granted after high school graduation. Melanie felt that her parents didn’t understand her true calling to be a writer. She explained to them dozens of times that she had to hone in on her craft if she was ever to join the rank of the J.K. Rowling’s and Colleen Hoover’s of the world. Her father, in as calm a voice as he could muster, said, “I get that, but mooching off your parents while you live out such a pipe dream is ludicrous! You have got to do better and earn a living for yourself.”

So, with only her savings in tow, Melanie thought Oasis Spring was as good a place as any to earn a living and make a name for herself. There wasn’t much she could do in terms of suitable living arrangements with only $1,800 to call her own, but she made due with what she had. She had built herself a small nest and had realized suddenly that the move was a much needed and welcomed start to creating a new her.

The first thing she wanted to do was find a job, even if she had to become a barista all over again. MoonRucks money was better than having no money, and she couldn’t afford to be picky. She spotted a blonde haired, terribly groomed individual walking by and deemed him worthy of helping her with directions. He seemed as if he had helped his fair share of damsels in distress in the past.

“Excuse me, you know of anywhere I can use a computer? Coffee shop? Library?” She tried to put on a friendly smile but it seemed severely fake so she dropped the whole “I’m a nice wholesome new girl” act completely.

“Yeah, it’s a library over in Willow Creek. A little ways south of here,” he said scratching the back of his neck. “Not really in walking distance…might need a cab or car or somethin’, but it’s the closest one we got.”

She thanked him for his help and pulled out her phone to call a taxi. Close or not, it was a start.