SCENT IN A BOTTLE

She held up the small vile, squinting at the transparent glass vessel. It looked ordinary and unremarkable as it lay neatly inside her palm. She looked around her, but there was no one in sight. The cork stopper made a hollow pop as her fingers eased it out.

She leaned and inhaled deeply. The scent in the bottle rushed through her head. She was suddenly on the deck of an ancient ship, being lifted up and down in the violent turbulence of the ocean’s raging swell. Heavy rain violently stung her skin and she watched and the ships crewman frantically trying to regain control of the sails against the gales and high waves.

The wind roared throwing salt water at her lips like a punch and the men’s shouts were barely audible under the rolling thunder of the storm. Still grasping the vial in one hand and the cork plug in the other, she found her footing and as the ship abruptly flung to one side, she jammed the stopper hard into the neck of the bottle. She was suddenly alone again, the air still, her feet on solid ground. She licked her lips and tasted salt.