Robert keeps walking,
looking at the endless corridor ahead of him, hearing only the sound
of his own footsteps and the tiny buzz of the lights. He has no way
of knowing how long he's been going walking. He doesn't tire or feel
hunger, never stops, just keeps walking past door after door after
endless countless door.
He wonders if he died
and this is his hell, this endless walk to nowhere. He wonders if
he's gone mad and that somewhere else he is sat catatonic in a
straight jacket. But he keeps walking nonetheless, because that is
what he's always done, his entire life. He walks.
