I WAKE UP with a throbbing pain at the back of my head. Streaks of blood trickle down and coat my face, and I gasp in pain when I see a long shard of glass stabbing my stomach.

Ashes flurries in the cold air the way snow does, except that instead of looking angelic, it seems ominous instead.

What used to be In front of me lies a ghastly scene. The store that was once known as Libby's Bath is reduced to nothing but a pile of ashes and broken glass. The only thing that makes me recognise my former workplace is the bells. The bells that twinkle every time a customer enters or leaves. The bells that were the first thing I heard when I first entered here for the interview.

What used to be sweet, melodic sounds of the bells twinkling feels more like a scolding and mockery to me. As if they were Libby in the form of bells condemning me for my sinful acts.

What have I done?

Oh gosh. What have I done?

What possessed me to do such a thing?

Consumed by a sudden wave of guilt and fear combined, I bite my lip and force myself to stand up before the police come. It may be night now, but an explosion such as this will not go unnoticed. Other nearby stores have also been affected- either their signage is broken or their flowerpots on the ground have cracked due to the explosion's impact.

Due to this, their stores' security alarm is triggered and the typically serene street is as noisy as the Songjirian highway during the peak hour.

With the shard of glass still stuck in me, I whimper and limp my way back home- on foot. A bloodied mess like me will not go unnoticed even if I were to take an empty bus or train.

Someone will see me.

20 litres of gasoline really was too much. If I used 15 litres instead, would I be caught in this situation right now?

Two hours later, I am at Death's door, and my mind is filled with my memories of visiting a parallel world where I did not recognise Libby or even Joaquim.

As I limped, I realised that I must have lost consciousness when I was having that surreal experience. That or I was actually in a version of Hell- the me that I could control was a muppet, and Irina No. 2 was just a way of, I guess, the Gods' way of showing me my misdeeds.

Of showing me the things I took for granted, of the life that I could have had had I chosen more wisely and differently.

Of showing me a glimpse into a wondrous life if only I had listened to Joaq's advice and taken up my mother on her offer.

All they did was tweak the real scenarios in which I actually experienced, yet it changed already changed a great deal.

The shard of glass that's lodged in my stomach now right- that's karma. The excruciating pain I feel whenever I even attempt to take it out is indescribable. Imagine that you're impaled by a jagged sword and all you're trying to do is breathe but even that causes you to be consumed by the constant jolts of pain that comes all at once. In a way, it's like falling in love- it leaves you breathless and it's the only thing on your mind.

Love is pain.

How am I going to survive this? Hissing from the sharp stings that are lancing through my body, I know that my foolish attempts and plan to walk home will be fruitless. There's no point.

The only I can do is hitch-hike and cling onto the last bits of my consciousness that is barely hanging on by a thread. It's a thin line I'm limping between life and death.

A very thin line.

___

I blacked out again and woke up in the middle of a street. I have no clue as to where I am and only know that it is still the wee hours of the morning as I am surrounded by pitch-black darkness.

My wound must be infected by now, for I can feel a fever raging on and declaring war on my body. I'm no longer fighting for my life, but also managing a civil war in my body. Is this what zombies feel like? Searing hot in the head but frigid and cold as winter at the rest of their body? Their hands ice-cold and clammy with sweat? Or is that what vampires feel?

Even my thoughts are not making any sense. I must be delirious. 

Sometimes, pain comes in strong waves but cruelly lulls at the end. Mine is the type that comes in powerful, unending currents, and everytime I try to breathe in much-needed air to survive, the currents wash me down and drown me in searing agony. Death will be welcome now.

"Just take me, Grim Reaper. Take me. I can't..." I hobble down the road, clutching my stomach and weeping at the same time. "Just take me..."

As if in response to my request, I hear car honks in rapid succession and a man's mellow voice, yelling, "GET OUT OF THE WAY! CHRIST! JESUS!" as he honks for the umpteenth time. "MY BRAKE ISN'T WORKING, WOMAN! GET OUT PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! JESUS!"

Your brake isn't working? Maybe there really is a God up there. Thank you, God, for ending my arduous suffering on this lonely planet.

Thank you, I think, as the car inevitably crashes into my limp body, and I smile when I feel it hit the hood of the car. I feel myself being tossed into the air, the way my mother used to playfully do when I was a wee kid. "Does that make you happy, my baby girl?" was what my mother would say, and I'd giggle innocently in response.

Innocent as a young child, then a sullied teen, tainted when I'm a young adult.

That's me, Irina Pan. My life story summed up in an unconventional haiku. 

Unconventional to the end.

I am rather torn as to whether did should be the end of Alexander Street... hence the extra placement of the three dots at the title.

Maybe I will write 2 more chapters, but those extra two may be deleted... I don't know, we'll see in the coming future.