My chest expands slightly, and contracts rapidly thereafter.

What the fuck just happened?

My ears are ringing, though the slight sound of screaming persists as the only other sound I can hear.

Am I dead?

My breaths are shallow and light; not because of pain. There's no pain stopping me from breathing. Matter of fact; there's no pain at all. However, I still find myself unable to take a deep breath, to actually fill my lungs.

If I'm not dead now, I will be soon.

Sweat pools under the mask, sliding down the sides of my face at an alarming rate. My breathing slows, and even the light breaths I've been taking feel forced and painful. Oh, how situations change in the matter of seconds. I uncurl my hands, or at least try to but my fingers retain a sense of stubborn stiffness that renders me unable to do so. The lights above me are too bright. My eyelids grow heavy and fall shut.

Who am I? A question I've asked myself a lot as of late, but at this point I have to wonder why I even bother. I'm a couple steps away from death, my identity isn't that important. And yet, I can't help myself. Who the fuck am I?

My chest's pounding. My lungs struggle to find the air that seemingly dances all around me.

A face. A woman's face. Swimming around in my vision, making up the black space that is the backs of my eyelids. I recognize her, though her name's lost on me. Whatever it was, I'm sure it started with some rarely used letter of the alphabet. That should make things easier, seeing as though I don't have to sift through the similar, boring sea of Janes and Marys. I can't make it out however. It's like the letters are there, swimming around her head and I just can't make them into the right combination that reveals her identity and by association, my own.

That's what it's all about, right?

It isn't pounding anymore. It isn't doing anything. My chest isn't expanding, nor is it contracting.

What do I know? Maybe, maybe removing myself from my past was a good thing. Nothing to grip onto, a fresh start, a clean slate.

Too bad that same beginning led me to the same end.

Well, not the exact same end.

I might die with my intestines outside my body this time.

I'm not breathing anymore. My lungs hurt; that along with the ringing in my ears assures me I'm still somewhat alive.

Even in realizing my death is imminent, the thirst for knowledge isn't quenched by the tinging desire for closure. I guess I won't be able to fulfill the latter without first resolving the mystery of the former. Her face is still there, but as it stays the only thing I can really see, the more and more frustrated I become with the reflection. Frustrated that I can't find what I'm looking for of course, but underneath that, the subtle feeling of ease I caught myself feeling twists in the same way her once inviting smile devolves into little more than a triumphant smirk, acknowledging that she's on some level gotten under my skin.

Wait, on some level? Don't I mean on every single possible level?

My heart's stopped. At least, I think it has.

There's a deeper resentment than just the fact that I couldn't solve the puzzle with this piece of evidence. No no, there's a burning disdain for the woman whose face is now plaguing my vision. I feel betrayed by her very presence though there's no logical reason for that right now. She's someone who was close to me, I know that much by the way part of me still longs for her despite the outward hatred. What was her name?

A minute's passed, I think. Still no breath. There is however, a light and I mean very light pounding on my chest.

I want nothing more than to scream. To ask her for her name but I can't force out the syllables. I can't open my mouth no matter how hard I try and the more I do, the meaner, nastier that smirk gets. She's enjoying this, isn't she? What does this part of me see in her?

The pounding grows harder, faster.

Suddenly, her demeanor shifts again. Not gradual, no. As if something terrible had just happened in front of her she becomes forlorn, allowing strands of hair fall in front of her face to block her deeply saddened eyes. There's the longing again, stronger than ever and even overpowering the tinging hurt, the searing anger left in the weaker part of me from whatever hell she inflicted on me in the past. The letters I thought were there, are now. A C I R O V T I. However, as soon as those appear, her face flies backwards. Slowly, like gradually zooming out on a camera, she becomes more and more distant, and the hurt, the longing, the anger all intensify. How dare it leave when I'm so fucking close?

Something presses against my lips when the pounding ceases.

She's not leaving? No, she stays put far enough from my vision to no longer be bearing down on me, but close enough so that her features are still visible. Possibly even more so. However, she's not the only one I see now. I see a blond guy, with a scar on his cheek and messy hair. A bald guy with rough facial features. A scared looking guy with brown hair. That's all I see of him, he's looking away from me. No more letters, though. No semblance of who they are.

I recognize all of them, though.

Not by name of course. But by face.

The pounding on my chest is back.

And just like that, they're all gone. The pain in my heart grows stronger as seemingly in a symbolic order they all fade. Vanish. Scared guy first, then Scarface. She's gone next, followed lastly by the bald one. The letters are all that's left. They move, forming something new. Not really, but a different combination of the same letters. One that makes sense.

V I C T O R I A.

Victoria?

Two and a half minutes have passed I think. You can only survive three minutes without oxygen. The pounding's heavier, more frantic. The pressure on my lips still replaces the pounding every second it isn't there. I guess this is what dying feels like.

And I'm okay with that.

I remember everything. Who they were, who she was, and exactly why that fucking cavalcade of feelings washed over me.

I know who I am.

Nay, who I was. Because in however many seconds, I'll be just another statistic. Another mark on the death tally with a long forgotten story on unfinished revenge and a mind that made peace with that fact. I'll be forgotten right after I bite the bullet, and for the first time in my entire life...

I'm completely okay with that.

My eyes force themselves open. Near blinding light fills my field of vision. I cough loudly before taking a long, deep breath.

"What the fuck?"