He barricaded himself in his room, and never came out.
He brought no food in with him, and there wasn't a bathroom or any way to get water. Somehow though, he survived. He would pace the floor, read the same books over and over and over and over again, rearrange his possessions into different piles.
From the other side of the door, they could hear him moving and sometimes a thumping.
From his side of the door, he heard many things. None of them ever good. Tires squealing... a car alarm that no one turned off for hours. Pops that could've been gunfire, but were impossible to tell how far away or how close. People shouting, yelling. Crying. The loud roar of... something massive passing by. A low jet? A convoy of big rigs? Peal after peal of rolling thunder, without any patter of rain. Things shifting and thumping on the other side of his door. Heavy, heavy breathing.
But let the world go on however it might out there.
He had barricaded himself in his room, and never came out.
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