From a lonely desk with nothing but the faint glow of a lamp to illuminate the room, came the sounds of the tapping of the keys of a keyboard. The breeze flowed through the partly opened window, the curtains flapping about gently and giving the room its signature chill. The night had clearly fallen and the moon was not enough to illuminate the room, which was why the lamp gave its dull glow. The room wasn't too dark, but it wasn't inviting either. And the tapping of the keys of a computer keyboard didn't aid that uneasy feeling you got as you felt the chill from beneath the door as you walked past. Tap, tap, tap. If you peeked through the crack of the door, you would see a young man. He looked very immersed in his work, whatever was on the screen. He seemed to enjoy the darkness. And if you observed him further, you'd find that even though he was all alone, he was quite content in listening to music through his earphones. He had a hoodie on, but the hood wasn't being worn over his head. His eyes were fixed on the computer screen. His fingers worked nimbly to type another word, and another. He'd take a sip from his bottle, cold water, but it seemed to be enough for him. He didn't have any food around. And strangely, this was a common sight, just a man sitting at a single desk, some books piled up, a drink nearby, and a computer in front of him.
The man's name was Chris, and he didn't ever do anything of importance. He never really spoke to anyone. He didn't leave his room without wearing his hoodie. No one ever saw him working in any businesses. And yet, he managed to keep his own (albeit very small) apartment, and managed to pay the bills. He would occasionally go to a small corner café, and would always order the same things. A pumpkin spice latte, and a cherry Danish pastry. The smell of the café enticed him, and he would savour his foods to enjoy the smells. It was relaxing. Chris would always sit in a dusty corner, near a bookshelf with very few books. A small spider would keep him company, and scare anyone else away. He had affectionately named it Ruby. But what would a spider know about human affections? The idea of spiders understanding this would intrigue Chris. Could a spider be like a dog? It would've been absurd to anyone else. But Chris was... different. He'd reach out and touch Ruby gently before leaving his spot in the café, and every employee had noticed the man's fondness of the spider. There had never once been a discussion about getting rid of the spider. "It will go in its own time," they would say, "It will die before it causes any problems." But it never left, and for months, Chris would go to the café, order his pumpkin spice latte and Danish pastry, and sit in the dusty corner. He would then watch the spider crawl around, smile to himself, and touch the spider softly once he'd finished. He would thank the employees for their services, give back his plate and mug, and leave, only to immerse himself in the darkness once more.
