I've never liked experiencing deja vu.

The feeling that you've seen this all before, nagging and prodding at the back of your neck, your skull, expecting a reward and being granted what you already have. When your brain goes all fuzzy on you, like some crappy old CRT television, showing the faint image of a fill-in-the-blanks it's blurring over, hiding everything you'd need to actually complete the puzzle and are left with the sense that the static knows more than it's letting on. Or, y'know, I'm just paranoid. I think I've earned the right to consider otherwise by now.

In a similar vein, I get that same vibe from something being too good to be true. Not sure the proper terminology behind it, but it's out there, somewhere. Maybe. Or maybe I'm scribbling in whatever I feel like inserting into those blanks, solutions for problems that weren't there to begin with. No strings attached, except for the ones behind your back, tying you back from obtaining what you really need. Paranoid. Benefits you for the sake of benefiting you, nothing else. I thought I knew what it was like. Turns out, I really don't.

I woke up to an overwhelming brightness.

It was harsh. Light seeped in through the fully-drawn curtains covering the windows, scattering about the interior. There was a comforter covering my body. It was cozier than I would like to admit, but I got over it and shoved it aside, half of it dangling off the edge of my bed. I shifted my body to a sitting position, and took my first steps on the soft, beige carpet below that spread completely across the room. I saw that my feet were bare, which wasn't as shocking as the rest of the bedroom after taking a vague glance around it, as if it was unrecognizable to me. That I didn't belong there. I knew I wasn't intruding, or at least I didn't think I was. The CRT static again bubbled up again.

There was a closet encased inside of the wall opposite to the bed itself, and a few windows draped in silky golden blinds that I couldn't get a good look at. I didn't need to work my brain into overtime to figure out that the blinding light was burning my eyes with a relentless brutality every time I even dared to think about it. To say the least, it was powerful. Or maybe I just hadn't gone outside in a while. The proper answer must have been one of the two, but there was no way I'd get that column filled in while working in a place with such bad cable connection. Oh well.

My first destination was the bathroom. Not because I needed to really use it for anything, but because it was the first place I found myself in. Funny how that works. Besides, there was no harm in giving myself a quick once-over to make sure I was in any fit shape. When in the porcelain palace, I pulled my arms up over my head as far as they could go until cracking noises were forced out. Stretching every morning is important, after all, I think. I dunno, I'm not exactly a good role model to follow. That's a story for another day.

Once the satisfactory feeling died down, I took in the sights of the washroom. The aura of intrusion was just as strong in there as it had been in the bedroom, and as frustrating to describe. Bland? Boring? Unfamiliar? Who knows, this isn't a crossword. There was a pearl white bathtub surrounded by more windows. More beacons for the light to shine through. The toilet was behind the door to my left, and the shower a bit further back than that. I turned in the opposite direction and faced myself in the mirror.

Except, I didn't.

There was a mask. No body. Despite that, I felt my entire body shudder as an uncomfortable tension washed over me, but that couldn't be right. No body. The mask had two sides, a white left and a black right, at least from my perspective. Each side took the appearance of those dramatic theatre masks, the white resembling the smiling one, while the black was more twisted, while still keeping the visage of the frown. Fittingly, it was almost upsetting to even look at. Hell, it looked like it crawled its way out of some uncanny valley, trying so desperately to become human. Struggling in vain to become something it wasn't. But no body.

As I continued staring into the mirror, and I guess the mask in the mirror staring back at me, a strange thought entered my head. All of the windows had curtains covering them, preventing the light from entering whatever house I was in.

So what the hell was going on outside?

I tore my eyes away from the mirror and pushed open the door to the hallway. It curved around a set of stairs to the right with a wooden railing. There was another door at the end of it that I hesitated to try and open, but upon deciding that it was better to fail than to not at all, I found the brass knob wouldn't budge, which left me with only one choice.

Each step on the carpeted stairs creaked unnaturally, like the house was much older than it appeared. Upon reaching the cream-coloured tiles of what I could only assume to be the main floor, I noticed some strange details right off the bat. There were blinds covering nearly every wall, as if they were the last defence from the scorching light. To the right was nothing more than a second door, this one a bit more regal than the one upstairs I had attempted to open moments prior, figuring it'd be a last resort if I couldn't find any other way out. Without a doubt, it was the front door, but opening it would mean going outside, exposing myself to the light, and I had a suspicious feeling I wasn't supposed to do that. If I even could.

Instead, I went to the left, since it was more open anyways. There was a kitchen with an island in the middle, and a path off to the left that I felt some instinctive urge to avoid, like there was a lion waiting in the underbrush, waiting to pounce and rip me up limb from limb, except it would probably be a house cat in a cupboard at most, and I like my limbs, thank you very much. So I entered the kitchen instead. There was nothing out of the ordinary, all of the usual appliances you'd see in a modern-day kitchen. A blender, a microwave, a mixer, all that jazz. I opened one of the drawers and found a couple of utensils strewn about. Something told me to reach for a steak knife first, and I did just that, holding it up to meet my eyes.

It was sharp, presumably because it was a knife, with serrated edges that were perfect for chopping up the correct servings of meat and also stabbing. "Maybe I shouldn't be playing with this thing," I muttered to myself, as it reflected an image of the mask back at me.

I froze. My eyes were completely fixated on the knife, and my mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. "Who… who are you?" I said. I think. Fill in the blank. I couldn't. You can't write with a knife. But you can attack.

I spun around on my heel to face the mask, and the person hiding behind it. Sure enough, there was a person. A man. He towered over me, and was wearing all black. A turtleneck, long pants, dress shoes, even black hair that hid both his ears and neck. Body shape implied human. Primal instincts inferred monster. I couldn't see any trace of a proper face behind the mask, and he were holding his hands behind his back.

I was fully prepared to blindly swing at the man, but he shook his head. "No, no, I'm no enemy of yours, Matsukaze," he tutted, like he knew what I was thinking. And to be fair, it seemed so.

"Then tell me who you are!" I insisted, voice cracking slightly. "I'm the one with the weapon here! And how do you know my name?"

He chuckled like what I said was the most humourous thing he had heard all day. "Matsukaze, you stupid, stupid woman. You'll find out soon enough, I'm sure of it." Even though I couldn't see his face, I knew he was smirking behind that horrible mask. He drew his hand up from behind his back, and that was my cue to strike.

I jolted forward, letting my legs carry me towards the man, not really positive in my plan past stabbing the everloving shit out of him. But any and all confidence drained out of my body when he snapped his fingers.

I stopped. I don't know why I stopped, but I stopped. The man waved goodbye to me, and that was when the blinds lifted.

I woke to an overcast sky.

I fell out of whatever chair I was sitting in, drenched in a cold sweat, onto the grey carpet floor. My eyes were wide and beading, and my legs simply refused to work, probably because I had just betrayed them. Or, at least I think I did. There was no way in hell that was only a dream. But it was only a dream, right? No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't wrap my brain around what I may or may not have dreamt.

After a short session of lying on the floor and letting all of my senses come back to me properly, I stood up on admittedly still wobbly legs. There were rows upon rows of chairs both in front of and behind me, and beside me was a window, this time uncovered. It was circular, and as I peered out of it, I noticed two things.

One was my actual reflection. Slanted graphite-coloured bangs covering the left of two icy, sunken eyes. The faded scar on my right cheek was still there, too. Everything visually seemed to be in place except for a strand of hair sticking up and out that I couldn't remember being there before. I poked at it to no avail, as it continued to stay there.

The second was what was actually outside.

Ocean. For miles on end, ocean. The cloudy sky set an ominous tone that, combined with what I may or may not have dreamt, left me uneasy, but not unfocused.

Was there anyone else on this boat?

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