Her mind was struggling, gasping; she snatched thoughts, discarded them - they were flighty and filled with strange wanderlust. She was in an old barn. She knew the smell. She could see shafts of straw-soaked sunlight between the old warped boards.
She couldn't move, and, as her mind stretched, she realized that this was cause for serious alarm. It started slowly. The engine wouldn't turn over. Something wrong. My legs. Numb. I can't move. Why can't I move?!
The panic kick-started her mind. She felt the fog slipping away under new rays of understanding. She was supposed to be in a meeting with the new client. Super important. They needed it. What the fuck was going on?
She was not tied up. She closed her eyes and it felt like she could move, but she couldn't. Her heart began to pound and that accelerated her brain. Old barn. Can't move. The meeting. Who cares about the fucking meeting?! She needed to be outside. She needed strength and movement.
She tried to hold her thoughts still, and she saw flashbulb revelations that made her breath catch. Then she heard the creaking of an old, rusty hinge and it all came back. The meeting. She almost laughed. She'd missed the meeting years ago.