Lily

When I first came back to some hazy semblance of consciousness, I felt things gently rocking beneath me, like I was adrift on a raft on a lake.

I opened my eyes.

I was in a small, dark, windowless room, with a strip of light coming from beneath a door.

I was lying in bed – a narrow bunk set into a wall, with a thin mattress underneath me. Just a few feet away from me was a toilet and a sink. Other than that, the room was bare.

My throat was dry as sunbaked concrete. There was a chemical taste on my parched tongue.

Then I remembered.

The crunch of metal. The shattering of glass.

The sickly sweet smell on the wet cloth forced against my face.

Overcome by panic, I fought to sit up.

Whooooaaa… that isn’t good.

Nauseated, I lay back down and waited for the drugs to wear off. Or at least for the room to stop spinning.

While I lay there, I tried to figure out where I was.

The rocking sensation was real. It was gentle, but it was definitely there – so I was probably on a boat.

Where the bo