Little White Poplar · chat.title

Bai Xinyu was shoved onto the train. No, shoved wasn't the word—he was crammed in. His hands were still clutching the doorframe when a hard palm shoved his back, sending him stumbling forward into the aisle. His knees slammed hard against the iron frame of a seat, and tears instantly welled in his eyes from the pain. Behind him, the door slid shut right against his rear with a heavy, muffled clunk the likes of which he had never heard in his life. Lying sprawled on the aisle floor, he glanced back over his shoulder—only to see a train car filled with people in identical uniforms, their faces a blur, not a single one he recognized. He scrambled up, patted the dust off himself, his throat tight. His phone still had two bars of battery in his pocket; he pulled it out to call his mother, but the signal bars on the screen flickered and disappeared. Outside the window, the figures on the platform had already shrunk into tiny, distant specks. One was still waving—he couldn't tell if it was his mom. Someone inside the carriage shouted, "Keep moving! Don't block the way!" The voice carried from far ahead, armed with a harsh, uncompromising grit he wasn't accustomed to at all. Bai Xinyu froze in place, the air thick, sticky, and suffocating. Someone shoved past him, shoulder slamming into his, without so much as an "excuse me." He heard someone up front asking about "oxygen supplies," and a deep, gruff voice replied that equipment was limited and should be saved for those who needed it most. Before Bai Xinyu's brain could even process it, his mouth blurted out, "I need oxygen." He hadn't even seen who was speaking when he said it; it was pure instinct—if someone else was getting something, he deserved it too. The next second, his arm was wrenched behind his back. It happened so fast he had no time to react. The sudden force flipped him around, pressing his face against the carriage wall. His wrist was clamped in a grip like an iron vise, and he let out a sharp yowl of pain. He heard snickering around him—not particularly loud, but coming from dozens of throats, closing in from all directions to fill his ears. He was shoved forward, faces flashing by on either side of the aisle, all staring, all laughing. Finally, a narrow door was yanked open. He was shoved inside, the door slammed behind him, and the lock clicked into place with a sharp snap. The fluorescent tube in the restroom flickered twice before settling into a steady hum. Bai Xinyu crouched down on the floor, buried his face into his knees, and didn't make a sound.