Minotaur (1/1)

He could hear people in the hallway, feet rushing back and forth and urgent whispering.  He knew they were talking about him, and he just didn't care.  The room was dark except for one light in the far corner, a concession he forced himself to make after finding himself sprawled on the concrete floor.  He had taken all but one lightbulb out and obscured it as much as possible.  He didn't want to see himself, either the way he looked now (pathetic) or the pictures of himself on the wall (smug bastard).

The door was locked, and after the first 3 hours people had stopped knocking.  Now he could just hear them out there, scurrying around.  He wanted them all to leave so he could leave.  He wanted to leave the room, but he couldn't while people could see him.  So, he was staying here in the un-natural twilight of this bunker, alone, untouchable, trapped in his own misery.

He sat on the floor, staring in to the nothingness, focussing.on the sound of his breath.  It almost worked, and then his chest contracted again, the pain tearing through him as his mind screamed he was weak and stupid and unworthy.  Tears flowed down his cheeks and he struggled to breathe.

Movement, movement was good, if he could keep moving he wouldn't think.  He prowled around the room kicking chairs and tables out of his way, reveling in the sound of crashing and the splintering of wood.  He ripped the posters off the wall, crumpled them and threw them as hard as he could into the