His cold fingers tapped each key of the keyboard.

He clicked.

And he clicked.

And he clicked.

A repititive sound aroused in the room - a never-ending one.

It repeated day after day, night after night.

And sometimes, he thought,

"Does anyone ever miss me?"

"What do they think of me now?"

"What's happening with the world out there?"

He was a prisoner of his own room, yet there was no guard.

No one had kept him in that place - yet, he himself; the prisoner, was afraid to escape.

He reminiscences their laughter, joyously overflowing through the hallways.

He remembers their insults, and their mouths quivering, that were full of mock.

He hears their never-ending sound of judgement, for how foolish he was.

Their words cling like tight ropes down their mouths, stuck like glue in paper.

And their eyes continuosly stare at him like piercing daggers, impaled him a million times.

Those eyes will never advert away from. And it'll stay the same.

What was he afraid of?

He was afraid, afraid of the higher-ups.

And it was his greatest fear.