emmapain.dump

It was 11:58 AM. The train was leaving at 12:15. Emma and her trolley ought to get aboard that train, but she did not have a ticket yet. Below the departures panel stood a large queue, perhaps twenty people, in front of the one available ticket window. In her memory, queues had never been so long -- she was not a regular traveller, unaware of busy times, and it was a Monday.

She pretended to be calm, her sight focused on the lady in front of her. Two minutes pressed on, and the line was not moving. She tried to unhear the baby behind her squealing as if he was in a cage. She grabbed her trolley handle grievously, trying to vent it out. Her eyes rose to the panel again. 20 minutes left, still. She sighed.

The people in the queue moved their heads to the right. A small vehicle, packed with a tower of trolleys, was pushing its way past the queue. With hurried breath, Emma watched behind her, and stepped backward, leaving the queue farther. The vehicle passed next to her sloppily, with its cargo shaking. The suitcase on top of it all had its outer shell warped, its contents compressed, threatening to explode. Emma inhaled between her teeth as the funny car passed by.

Something fell on the ground. Emma looked about, alarmed. It was her trolley: the vehicle had knocked it over. She rushed from her spot to apologise, but the driver was steering the car to dodge the obstacle, almost violently, causing the packed trolley on top to tilt menacingly. With her hands close to her heart, Emma dodged its fall, and witnessed its contents spill to the ground.

She bowed in front of the worker in shame, and endured his filthy words. When the man finally told her it wasn’t her fault, the queue had moved on. They lined up without her, as if she had ceased to exist. Tricked, she pulled her trolley angrily towards her stolen queue spot again. Most travellers ghosted her. Some showed angry faces, put her in shame.

Emma pulled back. It was 12:07.