Sniffles, coughs, someone else sneezes, and a rasping tubercular cough erupts from somewhere. Madame Hypochondriac starts feeling all jittery and shivery as she hurries down the thoroughfare, rays of sunlight streaming iridescently on her, and glancing off the shiny metal and glass facades of Orchard Road.
Her beady eyes furtively scanning the sticks of human beings around her, scouring faces for signs of sickness or disease; her every step quickening as she strides purposefully towards her destination - the Great Singapore Sales going on in one of those towering flashy shopping malls.
Madame fastens her N95 facemask and takes a deep breath behind the protective carapace of plastic. Her spectacles mist up, and through the mist, she sees the path in front of her metamorphosise into an Edenic boulevard of bright blossoms and fresh-smelling flora. The sticks of humans have vanished and the burning orange ball in the sky flashes crimson and anoints Eden with a healthy aura.
Madame dances a jig and hums an euphonious tune. This Eden is so far removed from pandemic-stricken Singapore where her peace is constantly shattered by intermittent sniffles, wheezes, coughing or throat-clearing. She feels reinvigorated as the sunlight flows into her bloodstream. Her feet become lighter as she treads on the plush green carpet of Eden. A reddish hue suffuses her physiognomy, restoring the traces of her long-lost beauty.
Life is so beautiful, she thinks to herself, submerging deeper into this misty Xanadu.
Until the quietude of her Eden is shattered by the clangour of blaring horns and anxious shouts. The last vapour of her breathy condensation clears from her spectacles and to her horror, she finds herself standing smack in the middle of a busy road with vehicles horning crazily, vehicles juddering to a halt, vehicles whizzing past and bystanders screaming her to get the hell out of the road.
Her head dulled by too much vitamins, and perhaps still clearing from her reverie of a few moments ago, Madame Hypochondriac reacts too belatedly. A taxi rams into her and like a crash test dummy, she flies into the air, taking an awfully long moment, before she hits the bitumen, painting it a bright dazzling red.
As if on cue, the germs-ridden air of pandemic-stricken Singapore is washed by thick furious sheets of rain, and a mist arises from the hot bitumen as life continues unabated.
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