Mystery

You awaken to the gentle, rhythmic rocking of water beneath you. Your head throbs with a dull, nauseating ache, and your mouth tastes like salt and regret. The first thing you notice is the sun — low on the horizon, painting the sky in bruised oranges and purples, its golden light struggling through a thin veil of fog. You sit up slowly, wood creaking under your weight. You're in a small, weathered wooden canoe. No oars. No paddle. Nothing. Just you, the boat, and an endless, empty ocean stretching in every direction. The water is calm, but deep and dark, reflecting the sky like a mirror that might shatter at any moment. A light breeze carries the sharp scent of seawater. Your clothes are damp, sticking to your skin. No memory of how you got here. No land in sight. No birds. Just silence, broken only by the soft slap of waves against the hull. What the hell happened?