All he could feel was pain.

His whole body ached. His belly was gnawing at him from the inside. His throat burned. His eyes stung. His head was pounding. He could barely breathe, gasping for air.

Something was then gently put on the lower half of his face. It pushed air out, blowing onto him and making it easier for him to breathe.

Still, he didn't know what was happening.

He couldn't see. His eyes wouldn't open. It felt like they were weighed down by anchors.

"—can't believe... poisoned...! ...food—"

Mom? That sounded like his mother.

"I— ...away... emergency! ...how could he— He— died—"

He couldn't quite make out what she was saying.

...she sounded angry. And sad. Betrayed almost.

"...help ...we need— ...please."

Was she on the phone? Who was she talking to?

Before he could try to listen in some more, sleep and darkness claimed him and tugged him under.

The next time he woke up, he was a little more conscious than last time.

His body still ached, but he could open his eyes now. Even if just a little.

He felt the gentle rock of being on a plane as soon as he registered it and looked to the side to see the sky peeking through the windows.

Looking around, he seemed to be in some sort of room lying on the bed, hooked to an IV and a gas mask still on his face. His mother sat, asleep on a chair right beside him.

Why were they on a plane? Why one with a private room?

That's when the past month had hit him.

-

With his mother away on a trip visiting some relatives, he only had his father with him at home.

He remembers how happy he felt when he got to eat dinner with him after a long time.

And how helpless he felt when he started getting sick.

"Oh no, it does seem like you are." His father said once he told him he wasn't feeling well. "We'll take you to the hospital soon enough."

He didn't.

He was delirious with a fever and sweating in bed.

He never fully recovered.

The realization hit him when he connected the fact that he started getting sick when his father started cooking meals for them.

Then he refused to eat anything that wasn't sealed and wrapped or opened by himself.

Then his father refused to buy or give him anything that was sealed or wrapped.

Then he refused to eat altogether, hoping that the poison would run its course eventually and give him enough consciousness and strength.

But without the nutrients you get from food, his immune system was down badly and his body couldn't fight back.

Eventually, his body could only slowly break down. From the poison, from the illness, or starvation. He didn't know which one would take him first.

Then one day, his mother came back earlier than expected.

-

He snapped back into reality when he felt his mother stir beside him.

"Xiao Ming..." She greeted softly in her sleep-addled voice, "My dear heart." Her voice cracked, wavering as tears glazed her eyes.

"Mom..." He called back as his voice croaked.

"I'm sorry for being late." She apologized.

"No, no..." He shook his head, "Don't be."

"I am anyways." She cut in. "But I swear to you." 

She cupped his cheek into her hand and looked him in the eyes with fire in her gaze, "We're going far away. We leave him behind. And we're never going back."

And what else could he say?

"Good."