He slumps against the windowless wall, head lolling, hair unkempt. Lining the dark, dusty floor are dim outlines, lost toys and forgotten heirlooms, the dingy detritus of eons.
"Why do you stay?"
He doesn't move. The darkness pulses.
"What keeps you?"
He looks up at the door, through the window. Black. He drops his head again. "Don't know."
"Don't know what? What keeps you, or what's outside?"
"Don't know." He turns halfway towards the wall.
A sad old teddy bear soaks up more dust. A broken down easel settles further. Another hour passes by.
"What are you going to do?"
A yellowed page frees itself from its book and drifts silently to the floor. A rotting piano, barely standing, falls a little further out of tune. Another hour passes by.
"There's salvation through the door."
He looks up at the door. Through the window, a shape moves. Without looking away, he tenses and draws his legs to his chin.
Dust motes d