Sometimes Henry thought that everything could have been avoided. He had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, that's all.
It's not like he was special or anything.
It was just because he moved into that stupid apartment.
After watching his ceiling fan rotate for 3 hours, Henry wondered what he'd ever liked about Room 302. Why did he move in again?
Oh, right, because the rent is cheap. Those kinds of problems seemed very far away now.
It was the fourth day. Maybe around 2-ish. Henry wasn't sure if he could trust the clock.
He didn't scream anymore. He'd used up all his screaming and pounding. Nobody was going to hear him.
Time seemed to have slowed down recently. He would stare at the clock and count the seconds, just to make sure time was still passing.
Sometimes he would stand at the door and watch his neighbors walk by through the peephole, living life as normal, like nothing had happened. He wished he could be like the people outside his window, driving somewhere, on their way to something.
He was going to run out of food soon, but he wasn't worried. He spent most of the time sleeping anyway, thrashing around in his nightmare world. The nightmares were the worst he'd ever had. These could not be of his mind's creation. Where did this stuff come from?
Sometimes he would wake up crying, screaming, or clawing at his own skin.
Henry hated sleeping.
But it was becoming increasingly difficult to stay awake.
He wondered what would happen if he fell asleep and didn't wake up. Would someone eventually knock down the door? Break through those chains?
The fourth day was nearly gone. Henry had spent most of it sleeping. And he was still tired.
But he resisted the sleep for hours before finally succumbing to his heavy eyelids. He didn't want to go back to his dreams. He was afraid.
Finally, he settled himself on his bed.
And Henry slept.
A/N: Just screwing around. It's probably already been done.