Far Off Coast

A hazy purple twilight. The gentle lapping of waves. A soft breeze carrying a scent she cannot place.

Lying there with eyes still closed, she takes inventory, wondering how bad the hangover will be.

She runs hand along her face, fingertips just grazing her eyelids, lips, neck.

Her hand reaches her naval, her hip, traces the curve of her buttocks and comes to rest on the—sand?

Her eyes snap open.

She is on a beach, with a shackle on her wrist, chain snaking through the sand, locked to the branch of a tree…