"Where are my... Ah, there they are." Chelsea mumbled to herself while trying to balance her boxes and fish her keys out of her purse simultaneously. To call it a purse was generous. It was more of a glorified rucksack. Not very feminine. After hearing the faint click of her apartment door unlocking she shoved it open using her entire body and with an audible grunt.

Her apartment was the bare minimum of living standards. It was basically one huge square, divided only by the change of carpeting and the occasional wall that didn't even have a door. All of the walls were the same starch white, with faint water stains where they met with the ceiling. The place also had a habit of smelling different every time the people downstairs cooked. It was rather exciting. Which was pathetic.

Directly beside the front door was her poor excuse of an office. It consisted of her small wooden desk piled with papers, a chair that came with her dining room set (which had one leg that was noticeably shorter than the rest-caused her to rock from time to time) a phone, and no computer. This forced her to do all of her taxes, inventory and whatnot for her currently failing self-employed business by hand. Fun stuff, right?

Further down guests would notice her corduroy loveseat that she bargained for at a garage sale. Only after successfully purchasing it for only $50 did she then notice the dark brown stains on the reverse sides of the cushions. Wonderful. Beside it was a too high coffee table with a tacky owl lamp perching upon it. Chelsea wasn't sure if this qualified as a living room or not.

At the back of the place was the kitchen. Despite the fact that she barely ever had any food, her utensils and appliances sucked, Chelsea loved to cook. Well, not cooking as much as eating something delicious. Yeah, she could live without the cooking part. Her kind of person were the reason restaurants existed. Awkwardly in the middle was a table with a single chair.

And finally, to the right of the kitchen were two doors directly beside each other. One led to her bathroom and the other was her room. Her room was a spring mattress on the floor, a pillow, some sheets, and her pottery supplies which were tossed into the far corner.

Long story short: Her apartment was not worth the rent she was paying. By a long shot. Well, maybe it could be, but she didn't have enough disposable income to make it nice.

After gently placing the boxes filled with extra inventory from today onto the couch and a well deserved stretch Chelsea headed over to her answering machine. Nothing.

"Nothing," she repeated to herself.

She lifted her wrist to check the time and decided 3:30 was an okay time to fix some dinner. She ignored the voice in her head saying it was way to early. She needed something to do. Now.

She began to fill a pot with water to boil and caught a glimpse of herself from the window above her sink. Her chestnut hair was piled haphazardly ontop of her head, stray hairs peeking out of her vibrant red bandana. Her eyes had ugly bruises underneath from her lack of sleep while the rest of her body hunched under the weight of her stress.

How, she thought to herself, did I manage to do this to myself?

Just shy of a year ago she had been just another enthusiastic entrepreneur, excited to start her shop. She had convinced herself that people loved homemade bowls and plates. And at first, they sure had. Her first few months were a huge success. She was able to live comfortably and even indulge in a few luxuries. Then Chelsea got too cocky. She rationalized that the more she made, the more she would sell. What she didn't realize is that the more she produced, the less details and charm her pieces possessed. Her products were no longer in demand. Soon enough, she was forced to dramatically drop prices in a vain attempt to draw them back. Eventually she downsized and cut back on as many expenses as humanly possible.

She pays the bare minimum on bills and hope it doesn't bite her too hard in the ass later.

She was now living paycheck to paycheck on account of the few people that still dropped by her shop. Even they were slowly diminishing. Unimpressed with her now repetitive, unoriginal inventory.

Lazily, she flicked on the burner's to her stove. Crossing her arms over her chest she stood and glared at the boiling water.

She remembered as a kid her Aunt Claire would tell her and her cousin Mark that the reason the water boiled was because she focused all of her anger into a super-heat-ray-vision. She would tell them never to get her too angry or else they would be next.

"No, that's impossible!" Mark had said.

"Oh really?" Claire glanced down from the stove. "Have you never heard of someone being so furious their blood boiled?" When the two kids simply looked at each other, "I thought so." was her reply. "Besides, how else do you think I get Jack to listen to me?"

Screaming and giggling the two of them ran out to the fields and wondered about how such a power could truly be.

"I still don't believe it. If it was real, why can't everyone do it?" Mark asked while balancing on top of a fallen tree trunk. He spread his arms wide took careful, deliberate steps. Uncle Jack had shown them how to tell the age of a tree by cutting off a branch and counting the rings inside. This one was 23 years before it fell. "Besides, how would it even you know... work?"

Chelsea took a running start and leaped onto the neighboring rock, scrambling to reach the top. "Who cares?" She grunted. "Think of how useful it would be. Someone steals your bike? Zap. Bath water not warm enough? Zap. That bird outside your window in the morning that won't be quiet? Zap, zap, zap"

Laughing at Chelsea's bizarre gestures with each zapping sound Mark lost his footing and toppled to the ground with a "Oof". After a momentary pause the length of a heartbeat the two erupted into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

The hiss of water hitting direct heat sucked Chelsea from her momentary flashback. Quickly she turned down the heat on the stove and poured in some sort of whole grain pasta.

Almost immediately after the contents of the box was emptied there were three distinct raps on her front door.

Crossing the distance in five long strides, Chelsea hesitantly opened her door and was greeted with a sense of dread.

It was Adrian. A short, stocky man with more hair in his ears than on his head. Oh, and he was her landlord.

Shit. "Wow, hey Adrian. How's it going?" What the hell are you doing here?

Never being one for small talk, he cut the formalities and went straight to the point. "Your being evicted."

"Christ, I told you all I needed was a few more months to get back on my feet. Then I'll be able to-"

"No. You've been pulling this shit for too long now. I gave you plenty of extensions and even made a few exceptions. It ends now. There are plenty of other people who are actually goddamn capable of paying rent who I can give this place to."

Chelsea steeled herself. Inside she was crying, pleading with him to just find it in his small, careless heart to help her. She was screaming at herself for ignoring the notices. For not figuring some kind of solution out earlier. On the outside, she balled her fists and looked him dead in the eyes, not betraying any signs of weakness. "Fine. How long do I have?"

"Two weeks." And with that, he turned and stalked away.

All sadness and self pity was replaced with pure, raw anger. What an ass. Sure, it was her own fault, but who likes to blame themselves? Still within eyesight, Chelsea watched the little man shuffle about.

"Zap" She whispered, closing the door behind her.

Remembering the still cooking noodles she cut the heat, drained the water but did not eat.

Flopping on the couch so her legs dangled over the armrest she threw one arm over her eyes and contemplated the situation.

Sell the shop, use the money for a new place, find a job close by, maybe even get a roommate. Sure, she was sacrificing the one thing she loved, and would probably only get part-time work thanks to her nonexistent college education. Plus, she would have a complete stranger living with her. What other choice did she have really?

Mark? Mark. Mark.

Bolting upright so fast she dizzied herself, Chelsea snatched her phone from it's cradle and almost violently punched in Marks number.

Growing up, they were the best of friends. Sure, they parted ways after high school but still kept in touch with phone calls every other week. He had taken up a farm on an island of all things. But, from what she'd gathered he was doing pretty well for himself.

"Hell-o?" he dragged out the last syllable.

"Howdy there partner. I reckon you be doing well?" Chelsea teased

"Ha, that's cute Chels. Really, so funny." She could practically hear his eyes rolling.

"Aw, c'mon. I'm just playing. How's the ranch?"

"Good, good. Not much has changed since our last call. Oh, I raised an island using magical rocks. That was exciting."

"Now who's being the funny one?"

"Me, I am. Weren't you listening? Anyways, the shop still doing well?"

Deep breath. You can do this. Just ask for help.

"I, yeah. Yeah. It's going great. Real great. Better than great. The best." Really? Okay, fine. Lying's cool too. By the way, very convincing Chels. Seriously, go for the Oscar.

Since Mark wasn't a complete dumb ass, he was easily able to decrypt what was actually going on. "Chels... don't lie. Even if I didn't know you, that was possibly the most horrendous act I've ever witnessed. Be real with me. What's going on?

"Horrendous, huh? Big word." Not knowing what else to say but the truth, Chelsea revealed what she had been hiding from her cousin since her life has gone spiraling downhill. She admitted how much she needed his help, whatever the form.

She heard him exhale slowly, probably thinking. "Alright... Okay I got something. Just to let you know, it involves you moving up here" When he heard no complaint he plowed on. "The Island is still pretty new, with plenty of opportunity. Sell the shop, use the money for a ferry ticket here, and just... start over. Learn from your mistakes. You can room with me until you figure things out. Deal? "

Looking around her, Chelsea decided she could very much leave all this behind.

"Deal. See you in two weeks."

A/N Alright, so I need your help. I love to write. But, I'm ver a little embarassed to show anyone I know personally my stories. It would mean so much to me if you dropped a reveiw telling me what you think. Ex. What's good, what needs work, spelling errors etc.

Anywaaaaaaaaaaaaays

This is basically the introduction to the story, I needed a reason why Chelsea went to the Island. I always found that the opposite character just kind of showed up, and served no purpose really. So, yes. Thanks again and please please please reveiw :)

I'll even make it easy for the people too lazy to write something:

1=Good

2=Bad

3=I don't know yet, write more.