I wasn't sure when I fell asleep. Was I even asleep? Where was I?
I was in some kind of bed, but I didn't recognize it. The fabrics of the blanket and sheets felt foreign on my skin. I seemed to be alone here. The only sound was my soft, rhythmic breathing. That, and the alarm clock blaring like a siren in my ears.
I forced myself to sit up, pushing the blanket off of my body. The blanket was a soft shade of light pink cotton. The sheets under me felt like silk. The pillows were fluffed perfectly, with an indent shape just like my head. It was as if I'd been here every night before. Had I really ever seen this place before though?
My hand instinctively reached over to the bedside table made of wood and painted white beside me. My eyes were closed, so how did I even know what color the table was? What material it was made of? I felt around for the alarm clock, pressing the button to shut it off. My hand hit the lamp next to it. I recoiled as a shooting pain went up my arm.
"Stupid antique lamp..." I muttered in annoyance, "Doesn't even work..."
The words sounded strange as I spoke. Natural. Right. Real. The voice sounded like my own. The way the words flowed on my tongue felt correct, like paint covering the last spot of blank canvas on a painting. Like placing every pencil on a desk so they're lined up perfectly. Like splitting something perfectly in half without measuring.
I pushed myself out of the bed, glancing around at the room. It was all so...right. The bookshelf, filled with books with no title or pictures on the cover, yet I knew I'd read each one. The magazines with no pictures, yet I recognized exactly what they were. The dresser that was half empty with all its drawers open. The chair with the dirty clothes tossed over it as if it were a laundry bin. The mirror.
The mirror.
I walked over to it, examining every inch of my reflection. It felt so right. My hair was long and soft, falling down my back in a neatly done style. My gray-blue eyes shined as I gazed at myself. Even with no makeup, this face was clearly beautiful. My clothes fit perfectly around my body. They felt comfortable on my skin.
It wasn't too hot or too cold in here. Not too bright or too dark. The floor was made of floor. I'm not sure why that shocked me. Were floors not always made of floor? Sometimes they were wood, sometimes carpet, sometimes tile. But they were always floor. What else would a floor even be made of?
I walked across the floor, savoring every step. Every small contact my bare feet made with the dark wooden planks that made up the floor felt so relaxing. I wasn't sure why. This was my room. It had always been. I'd walked across this exact floor every single day, more times than I could count. So why did I suddenly care?
I stopped in front of the window and pushed the white curtains out of my view, enjoying the scene outside my window. The dusty, cracked pavement of the road. The chipping white paint on the walls of the house in front of me. Their front door, painted bright red with a basket of matching red flowers hanging over it. The cherry blossom trees that lined the streets fully bloomed, with beautiful pink flowers fallen across the sidewalks. The trash bins at the end of everyone's driveways, lined perfectly in order. The lake on the hill behind the house across from mine. The way the surface of the water moved as the wind blew across it. As the people standing at its edge skipped stones, tossing each one with uncoordinated precision.
I recognized those people.
I wasn't sure how, but I knew them.
So I stepped back from the window, closing the curtains behind me. The way the light shone in hurt my eyes for some reason.
