I see things.

Not just normal things, either. Things no one else can see. But I know they’re real.

I know how that sounds. Trust me, I know. But I’m not crazy. I’ve had my fair share of doubts in the years, but I am fully convinced that I’m sane.

No. I’m not crazy.

Everyone else is.

They can’t see what’s real, what’s truly in front of them. But I can.

I see it, and try to warn them.

I’m on a ship this time, like so many other times. The waves undulate below me as I look over the side, the salty breeze whipping my long, fiery hair around. I close my eyes, taking in the beauty of this moment, paused in time. These peaceful moments are so rare, moments when I can just…be. Not be me, or be a hero, or be a villain. Just be.

Or course, the moment is over practically before it began.

The waves pick up, and the sky turns gray.

Then, I see it.

It hulks over the ship, reaching towards the gray clouds above. It’s alive, moving like the water around it, never making exactly the same move, but always similar. As I gape up at it (no matter how many times this happens, the shock of its appearance and sheer size will never cease to astonish me), a man abruptly stops walking next to me.

Does he see it too?

“So, what are you doing tonight?” he asks me.

No. Of course not. They never can see.

I look at him, taking in his white collared shirt with the first few buttons undone. His sandy blond hair is mussed and his brown eyes stare into mine.

For a moment, I forget what is happening behind me.

I quickly remember as it violently shakes the ship.

“I’m sorry, but I have to go,” I say apologetically, and I quickly walk away, as to not alarm anyone.

Once I get far enough away from the man so he can’t see me, I stop and gaze up at it once again. By now, it’s noticed me. I sigh. When this happens, it never ends well.

I run to a crewmember and tell him to evacuate the ship, that everyone is in danger. When I tell him why, he laughs and tells me to stop daydreaming.

At this point, the ship is violently rocking from side to side. From my quick survey of the surrounding passengers, I can see they can feel it; they’re holding on to chairs, other people, anything. What do they think is causing this? Waves? Nonseers are so ignorant.

“Get off the ship! Move!” I scream. Nobody listens.

And then it’s too late.

I jump into the water at the last minute, and then the ship disappears, taking everyone aboard with it.

I saw it, and I tried to warn them.

They should have listened.