I don’t know where I am.

That’s the first thought that comes to mind. Before my eyes are entirely open, I am struck by the feeling of being utterly and completely lost. Call it animal instinct, call it a sixth sense, I just know I am lost. I don’t remember where I am and, even scarier, I don’t remember where I was.

I open my eyes, expecting to see total blackness because obviously I have been kidnapped, ransacked by some villain who has thrown a bag over my head. I’m captured. I’m a victim. I’m in some dungeon or pit or the trunk of a decrepit car, decaying in the middle of an abandoned forest where I will surely starve, wither and die.

No, not quite. I’m on a beach.

It’s never unpleasant to be on a beach. There is something about the feeling of sand beneath your skin, the sound of waves breaking, the warm kiss of the sun. Being on a beach is always a welcome feeling, a feeling of nature’s healing embrace.

But being on this beach — disoriented and clueless and alone — doesn’t feel so good. I look to my left, nothing but the ocean churning onto the shore. Its sheer force is both frightening and calming. I look to my right, more of the same and maybe a few seashells and rocks. This beach feels untouched, both new and ancient at the same time. Forgotten by time and the rest of the world.

I hear nothing but the sound of the waves. Again and again, pounding on the shore in a constant rhythm. For a brief moment, I swear I hear an owl call. And what’s the other sound? People singing softly in the distance? It’s a beautiful melody, something like a nursery rhyme, but it’s gone, lost in the wind and the barrage of wave after wave after wave.

I stand and shake the sand off of me. My head feels clouded and distant, as if it’s a balloon on a very, very long string. I’m a bit car sick, like I have been shaken up in my sleep and tossed to the ground like an picked flower. Or, more accurately, like a piece of trash. My body feels stretched, warped. I suddenly think of Frankenstein’s monster and for a reason I cannot grasp, I feel a kinship to him. I don’t feel right. I don’t feel right at all.

I look ahead, the sea stretches out into forever. I wonder what lies ahead of me, how many miles of unseen and unbothered ocean. How far away am I from civilization?

And then I see something: a plane. It’s so small, flying high in perfectly blue sky. It’s miles away from me and heading even further away. Was it that plane that delivered me here? If so, who was flying it and why did they drop me on this deserted rock in the middle of a vast sea? Will I ever see that plane again? It shrinks even further into the heavens. It’s going, it’s going.

It’s gone. I am alone.

I’m rubbing my eyes, adjusting my vision to the brilliant sun, when I sense something behind me. I turn and I notice a path. A little wooden walkway placed there by someone…or something. I know instantly that beyond that path lies the voices I heard singing. And God knows what else.

My tired feet guide me forward. I am on auto-pilot, desperate for answers. My body feels achy and battered, like I have been stuck inside of a box for days. I am so thirsty, so incredibly hungry and drained. I never get this way. What is wrong with me?

Ahead of me: a small patch of grass and in its center is a tiny pond. It looks so inviting, so delicious. Damn, I could drink the whole thing. And that’s exactly what I do. I drop to my knees and I begin shoveling giant scoops of water in my mouth. I don’t care how dirty it is, how grimy and warm. I gulp again and again, water running down my chin. I am an animal, a primal beast thirsty for sustenance. My face hangs above the pond as I feverishly swallow more.

That’s when I see it. That’s when I see me.

I now know why I don’t feel the same. I now know why I feel so incredibly different and out of sorts and…wrong.

I am not the same. I feel like a monster because I am a monster. I have changed. I have transformed. I have become something different.