Sheela's eyes opened, staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling of her new Barton house. It took her weary mind a minute or so to rouse itself enough to remember that it was now morning, likely 8 or sometime thereabouts, but she'd have to look at her alarm clock on the floor next to her to make sure. That would require turning her head, and air mattresses aren't condusive to any kind of movement to one who lacks sufficient determination to do so.
It was another five minutes before Sheela gained enough determination to turn her head and verify that it was 8:18. She yawned, stretched, and rolled off the mattress straight onto the floor, which is more condusive to movement and rather lends itself to determination if it's hard enough. In a few seconds, she was up and standing in the middle of the completely empty except for the air mattress and alarm clock room. Settling in would be quite a chore.
It had taken Sheela years to save up for her first abode. She'd originally thought she'd have to settle for an apartment, since she didn't want to go into debt by taking out a mortgage on a house, but this one had come remarkably cheap. It was a fixer-upper, to be sure, but livable, and Sheela figured she had more than enough life in her to renovate around the pockets of time she planned to reserve for chasing her dream of being a novelist. Anyway, the house was discovered a month ago, closing negotiations had taken up until last week, and just the day before, she'd finally packed her meager supply of furniture into the house. Last night had been her first, and though she slept well, she was bone-sore from the work yesterday and the strange bed. At least she didn't have to be anywhere today.
***
A few weeks later, Sheela leaned back in her chair at her white desk in the living room and sighed. This novel just wasn't coming together, as none of her novels ever really did. All of them had wound up in the trash at some point, if they made it far enough to find any evidence of them on paper. This novel was different, however, in that Sheela had no job. She had enough money to last until the novel was finished, if she hurried and stuck with it, but after that, she'd qualify for the term "starving artist." Already she was trying to find ways to cut corners on her spending. Should she get a refrigerator so she wouldn't have to keep eating out? Would that put a significant increase on the electric bill? Being an adult wasn't as fun as she'd once thought it would be.
Maybe I need a break. This room's dark, I need to get outside. Sheela planted her palms on the desk and pushed herself up to a standing position. Taking a sweater from her coat closet in preparation for the fast-cooling fall temperatures and her housekeys from a table near the door, she left the house, locking up after herself.
The house was a short walk from different key locations in Barton, such as the grocery store and the variety shops. Sheela's feet took her in the direction of the latter and soon she found herself across the street in front of the Tall Tales Stationery Shop. She'd seen it before when she was in this section looking for nick-nacks to dress up her house. It had piqued her interest, but she'd yet to muster the courage to go in. What if she didn't find anything there? Today, however, she had nothing to look for, and there was bound to be something inside the store that was more interesting than whatever was at home. Who knew, maybe some new stationery might be just what she needed to break through her writer's block. She crossed the street carefully and looked as casually as possible through a window. It appeared open, it was lit and had some activity in there. She moved to the front door and pushed it open.
