Five Minute Read: Welcome to Paradise

            For years, she’d wondered what it would be like. Sipping drinks with pink umbrellas in them; flouncing along in her slinky bikini as she waved her arms manically around her head, shouting hazily after newfound friends. If she’d wrinkled her nose, she could almost smell the dried salt, the syrupy scent of fabricated coconut, and the sweet tinge of mai-tais wafting amongst the pink-hued atmosphere.

            Of course, that was the problem with fantasies. They had a habit of paving the way for little more than the disappointments of reality.

            Scrimping and saving, dieting for months on end while she hotly denied herself a second glass of wine or even a nibble of the delectable croissants her co-worker Mal insisted on bringing in every Monday. 

            Budgeting and savings accounts and all the things she’d had to forgo in order to pad her wallet for a tropical lay on a beach in Fuji.

            Her dream.  

            The postcard of which she’d hung up on her fridge since the moment she’d purchased the tickets.

            Her dream (finally!) come true.

            Only now, three days in, she had yet to see the sun. She’d barely even seen the outside, much less the ocean, given the storm that had rained and thundered, whipped and chilled against her small hut since practically the moment she’d disembarked from the plane.

            Actually, no.

            She frowned. Ever an honest woman, she had to take that last statement back. It wasn’t true. When she’d debarked, the island had decided to up the ante on her. It’d teased her with a singing whisper of wind, carrying the heavenly hints of water and relaxation on the air.

            Carrying with it every daydream she’d entertained all these long months—enticing her, taunting her with a tropical delight.  

            It was three hours later—almost on the dot—that the winds had started to pick up, the sky darkening to an ominous, eerie shade of indigo. At first, laying out in the plastic beach chair that had come with her room, Sasha had done little more than adjust the position of her wide-brimmed hat.

            So it looked like rain? What was a little rain?

            When goosebumps had broken out across her body, she’d begrudgingly headed inside. It was fine, she figured. After her flight, an early night was probably for the best.

            But she didn’t sleep; the creak and crack of the windows, the groan and moan of the trees—like lashes on the electric air—kept her awake.

            Which she supposed had been nice for one aspect: she’d been utterly prepared when the morning had brought only more of the same.

            Rain, storms. That abominable wind.

            Not one tiki bar open.

            Welcome to paradise, Sasha Odell.