Treasure [h.s]

| 01 - Sin City |

Las Vegas, Nevada.

The land of corrupt misfits, mingling and morphing into the next act in bright lights. Drunk nights and bar fights, high rolling until the deed to your house belongs to another wealthy CEO.

Magic happens under these fake Paris statues, sinners from across the globe scramble around in hopes of finding that adrenaline high they desperately crave. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, after all.

It's a miracle that I ended up somewhere so... barbaric. This place might be pure ecstasy for anyone else, but the new round of tourists walking the streets below makes my stomach turn.

Temptation runs in my blood, but after seeing the aftermath of fun, Vegas doesn't make me want to party. The fine line between innocence and addiction is meant to be blurred within these streets and I'm wise enough to know that it's a trap. An ounce of luck turns into a lifetime of misfortune in a place like this.

My job, however, just so happens to be on the corner of a far less busy tourist street. I moved here to get away from the exact life people are searching for, just stories below the office building I'm currently sitting in.

My dream is to be a publicist for something important and impactful. I'd love to solve problems and help communities like the one I came from. I believe no kid should have to grow up the way I did, and that the system put into place to help them needs to be changed. Our youth is being failed by the adults meant to protect them.

Unfortunately, the best position you can get with a community college degree is being the personal assistant to Jillian Wood, CEO and founder of The Strip Magazine, Las Vegas' top-selling gossip hub. The notoriously bitchy, career-shattering, snob of a woman is my boss, and I'm her coffee bitch.

I never had much opportunity, but I did work really hard to put myself through school and move out here alone. I'm only 23, and for having no family, I'm fucking proud of where I am.

I sit in my swiveling chair, twirling a pencil around my fingers and staring out of the 30-story window. The people below look like ants, but they practically are. They're the workers, and Sin City is their queen.

They scatter around in groups, hopping from one casino to the next, pit-stopping between bad choices to refill their baton-sized beverages so they have something to wash down the vomit threatening to spew out. I've seen it far too often: the blazing sun, lack of food, and endless supply of alcohol is disastrous.

I'm slouching in my seat, one leg over the other and my heeled foot slightly waving in the air. I like to daydream about where I'll be in ten years and pray I won't end up like the ones out there. This is pretty much what my day consists of when I'm not running meaningless errands or making dinner plans for Jillian.

The experience of working in her office will hopefully put me on the right track when the time comes to further my career. I would do anything to make it in this world, I have so much to prove but somehow it landed me here.