Hell is other people. Jasmine understood this phrase better than anyone.
The empty streets were dark and damp as Jasmine made her way through the narrow route late at night.
Her life lay in tatters. Dystopia at best. No—worse. Calling her life a dystopia would be considered blasphemous in her made-up religion.
Fuck that wrinkled hedgehog, Jasmine thought. Her landlord was quick to demand the rent, which was due. She promised to pay him back once she got her hands full. But of course, who would believe her?
He had laid his eyes on her voluptuous body, asking for some other sort of compensation.
He was, of course, met with a slap across his wrinkled, puny face—which was apparently enough to break the remnants of his teeth.
She gritted her teeth, walking through the cold streets. Nowhere to go. What was she even supposed to do now? She had neither family nor friends to rely on. She had struggled with social anxiety ever since she could remember—the reason why she didn't have anyone to depend on.
"That reminds me… this street—" She stared into the distance. A streetlight a few meters away flickered on and off. Fog obscured the figure she was staring at, but she had an idea.
Lately, there had been news of a murderous serial killer in these areas. He would slit the throats of his victims and dump their bodies in the trash. The police arrested several suspects, but the murders never stopped. Witnesses claimed to have seen a person wandering the streets in Victorian-era clothes—a tall black hat, a calf-length frock coat with a waistcoat on top.
The figure half-obscured in fog was no different. He wore exactly what the witnesses had described. A weird, unnatural smile was plastered on his pale face as he moved forward, attempting to close the distance between him and Jasmine.
Nausea and fear gnawed at her already depressed heart. Given her situation, one might think she would want to end it all. A murderous serial killer in front of her would provide a good means to bid goodbye to this unfair, cursed world. But there was one thing about Jasmine that she despised more than anything.
She wanted to live. She didn't want to die. She wanted to enjoy the little moments of ecstasy that life offers to everything that breathes—everything that is capable of feeling. She wanted to experience everything the world could offer.
So she could not die. Not here. Not now.
Adrenaline rushed in—she ran faster than ever. Her legs trembled from cold and fear, but she did not stop. She couldn't stop. This was the fastest she had ever run in her life. Maybe.
Run, Jasmine. Run. Run, Jasmine. Run.
She passed several buildings, bars, and houses, shouting and screaming for help. Ahh, but her least-liked ally was there for her even in this situation. Her ally was the first aspect of her life she understood deeply. It never left her—be it warm or cold, day or night.
Yes, you guessed it. Her ally—bad luck, misfortune, tough luck, whatever you call it—helped her even in this peculiar predicament. All the shops and houses were closed. Dead silence filled the cold streets, except for her manic shouting, of course.
Some stray cats got startled and bolted away by her sudden outburst. Meanwhile, her cold ragged breaths battled against the the stale air.
She ran through street after street until she finally stopped at a bridge crossing on the outskirts of the area. She gasped for air, her head down as she supported herself against the railing. Her hair was disheveled, her worn-out shoes now completely unusable. She silently cursed.
Damn it. All because of that geezer.
She slowly looked up. Tinnitus rang in her ears as her eyes widened in pure fear. The figure was standing at the end of the crossing—the exact same unnatural smile intact.
Without thinking, she turned back—and saw the exact same sight. The figure. Again.
H-huh? There were two…?
Her brown eyes darted back and forth between the two identical men. The tall hat cloaked their eyes; only their smiles were visible over their pale faces. They held daggers—already bloodied, the blood of fresh victims dripping from the curved blades.
Jasmine's eyes twitched in perplexity and horror. What was even going on? A second murderer? How? Why?
This… can't be happening…
She laughed hysterically. "Is this really how my life ends? Really?" she said aloud, letting out another stifled broken laugh.
"Fuck this," she mumbled, as out of nowhere, she jumped from the railing. As she floated briefly in the air, she remembered a past conversation.
We are not born to die. We are born… to live.
Too late for that, Oma.
Thud.
Jasmine's mouth tasted metal. Her eyes opened for a moment, her vision blurry. She realized she was drowning in water. She didn't know how to swim. There was utter darkness around her. Her lungs hurt too much—like they were about to explode.
Ah… I really wanted… to live. Well, that's that… I guess.
Pop.
She heard the distant wailing of a crying woman, and other unfamiliar voices trying to calm her down.
Jasmine… could feel. She was… in a chamber, stuck.
Eh? W-what? Who's crying? Where am I? Is this what the afterlife is like? Damn.
She suddenly felt a hand gripping her firmly, pulling her out of the chamber.
H-HUH?
The woman seemed like a nurse. She was middle-aged, with a lot of freckles on her face. She had a grim yet relieved expression. Beside her were two other younger women, looking at… Jasmine with teary, happy faces.
*"Congratulations, my lady. Your child seems perfectly healthy."*
Jasmine felt a jolt through her body, not recognizing the language at all. The nurse gently placed in the arms of a young woman lying on a bed in the dark, warm room. The woman… was very pretty. She had silky brown hair, ocean-blue eyes, and delicate fair skin. She was breathing rapidly, sweat dripping from her body like a waterfall.
She pressed Jasmine against her chest, crying… out of happiness? The dampness of her body clung to Jasmine's little face.
I see… MY PRAYERS HAVE BEEN ANSWERED. I HAVE BEEN REBORN. A NEW WORLD, LET'S GO!
That reminds me… if this beautiful woman is my mother, then where is my father? A frown appeared on Jasmine's face.
…Don't tell me she's a single mother too… doesn't seem like it… does it?
The nurse and the younger women began to look concerned.
One of the younger women inquired of the nurse, *"The child hasn't cried… does he have a problem?"*
Jasmine sort of understood what the nurse was worried about, even though she didn't understand the language in the slightest.
Hmm… Should I try to cry? No… I'm terrible at acting. Still…
The newborn child moved its legs a little, scratching against an unfamiliar… part.
Huh?
The child slowly moved its head downwards… and saw something which shouldn't be there. It was not the part Jasmine was familiar with in her old life.
That's right. It was sticking out, like a joystick attached to a console—except this joystick was much smaller.
He gasped for air, a deep frown forming on his tiny, round face as he squinted his eyes. Then it hit him. A mixture of emotions flooded his heart, and when I say mixture, I do not mean it in a positive way at all.
Fear, utter horror, confusion, weirdness, and a little bit of curiosity pumped through his heart. A wail escaped his lips, then another one. Slowly, the wails turned into genuine screaming and crying.
The nurse and the younger women sighed in relief. The mother comforted her baby, oblivious to the reincarnated boy's internal turmoil.