He woke up on the train.

He did not know how he had gotten there. He did not know why he was there. He only knew that he was sitting in a seat, and the train was moving, and the window showed a landscape that he did not recognize.

He was a middle-aged man. He had a face that was ordinary and a body that was tired. He was wearing a coat that was too thin for the weather.

He looked out the window. The landscape was flat and gray. There were fields. There were roads. There were the occasional house.

The train was old. It smelled of diesel and old seats and the faint smell of someone else's perfume.

He was alone in the compartment. Or he thought he was.

---

The train pulled into a station. He did not know the name of the station. It was a small station, with a single platform and a bench and a sign that was covered in graffiti.

He stood up. He walked to the door. He pulled the handle. The door opened.

He stepped onto the platform.

There was a woman sitting on the bench. She was wearing a red dress. She was reading a book. She did not look at him.

He stood on the platform for a while. He did not know what he was looking for. He only knew that he was not supposed to be on this train.

But he was.

He got back on the train. He sat down. The train pulled out of the station.

He looked out the window. The landscape was the same. Fields. Roads. Houses.

The woman in the red dress was still on the platform. She was still reading her book. She had not moved.

He thought about this. The woman had not moved. The bench had not moved. The sign had not moved. The station had not moved.

Nothing had moved.

The train was moving. But the world was not.

---

The train pulled into another station. This one was also small. Also gray. Also covered in graffiti.

He stood up. He walked to the door. He pulled the handle. The door opened.

He stepped onto the platform.

There was an old man sitting on the bench. He was sleeping. His head was tilted back. His mouth was open. He was snoring.

He stood on the platform for a while. He did not know what he was looking for.

He got back on the train. He sat down. The train pulled out of the station.

He looked out the window. The landscape was the same. Fields. Roads. Houses.

The old man was still on the platform. He was still sleeping. He had not moved.

He thought about this. Nothing had moved.

---

The train pulled into another station. Also small. Also gray. Also covered in graffiti.

He stood up. He walked to the door. He pulled the handle. The door opened.

He stepped onto the platform.

There was a child sitting on the bench. The child was playing with a toy train. The toy train was red.

The child looked up at him. "Where are you going?" the child asked.

"I do not know," he said.

"Me neither," the child said. "I am just playing with my train."

The child went back to playing. The toy train moved along the tracks on the ground. Forward and backward. Forward and backward.

He stood on the platform for a while. He did not know what he was looking for.

He got back on the train. He sat down. The train pulled out of the station.

He looked out the window. The landscape was the same. Fields. Roads. Houses.

The child was still on the platform. The child was still playing with the toy train. Forward and backward. Forward and backward.

---

The train pulled into another station. Also small. Also gray. Also covered in graffiti.

He stood up. He walked to the door. He pulled the handle. The door opened.

He stepped onto the platform.

There was no one on the platform. No bench. No sign. No graffiti. Just a field of gray grass and a gray sky and a gray road.

He stood on the platform for a while. He did not know what he was looking for.

He got back on the train. He sat down. The train pulled out of the station.

He looked out the window. The landscape was the same. Fields. Roads. Houses.

It was always the same.

---

He sat on the train and watched the landscape blur past. Fields. Roads. Houses. Fields. Roads. Houses.

He had been on this train for a long time. He did not know how long. Days? Weeks? Years?

Time did not exist on the train. There was no clock. No sun. No moon. No stars. Just the gray landscape and the gray sky and the sound of the train on the tracks.

He thought about his life before the train. He could not remember it. He only knew that he had been someone. He had had a name. He had had a job. He had had a home.

But he could not remember any of it.

All he could remember was the train.

The train was moving. But the world was not.

The woman in the red dress had not moved. The old man had not moved. The child had not moved. The station had not moved.

Nothing had moved.

Except the train.

The train was going in a circle. He knew this now. He had seen the same station four times. Maybe five. Maybe more.

He was not going anywhere. He had never been going anywhere.

He was just on the train.

And the train was just moving.

Forward and backward. Forward and backward.

Like the child's toy train.

He closed his eyes. He listened to the sound of the train on the tracks. Clack clack clack clack.

And he waited.

For nothing.

Because there was nowhere to go.

=== OBJECTIVE CODES (OTMES v2) === M1: 4.0 M2: 0.5 M3: 2.0 M4: 9.0 M5: 1.0 M6: 2.0 M7: 2.0 M8: 0.5 M9: 2.0 M10: 3.0 N1: 0.10 N2: 0.90 K1: 0.80 K2: 0.20 V: 0.20 I: 1.0 C: 0.9 S: 0.1 R: 0.0 TI: 22.3 (T5 苦难级) Theta: 270 deg E_total: 7.1