prompt story

He sniffled and shifted on the cardboard box. Any minute he felt it would burst and his ass would be owned by the cold concrete ground, but at the moment he was comfortable enough to not worry about that, at least for a minute or two. After all, Nickolai was the easiest person to distract. Even a fly could take his attention away.

Nickolai felt the snot ooze from his nose and sniffed again, bringing his sleeve up and wiping the gooey liquid ontop of the dress shirt. He wrinkled his nose at the sight and hurriedly rubbed his arm on the wall. It took him a few seconds to convince himself the nasty looking paste was gone, before he could feel safe curling his arms around his midsection again.

A rasberry absentmindedly popped from his lips. Not the smartest thing to do in his conditions, but he was bored. He would've already left the stuffy storeroom, but he had gotten locked in while putting a few instruments up. 'Nice, Nickolai,' He had thought to himself then, attempting to budge the door open. At first, it seemed like a grand adventure to his meek mind. But now it was forty five minutes later and he could feel the sneaking up of a common cold. He just wanted to go home and snuggle into his warm comforters. Screw the fact his grandmother crocheted them; they were warmer than any other throws he'd used before.

'A good composer and musician would see the beauty and opportunities in front of him,' Nickolai thought bitterly. He had been accused of many things but none of them particularly kind. Mostly, he had never been accused of being an 'astute' composer, as his fellow artisans liked to say. He thought he was okay. If you liked your work, you deserved to be able to do it. They hadn't a right to make fun of him. Still, it hurt, though. He thought that one of his 'friends' had locked him in there as a practical joke. It was a possibility, a strong one.

Looking up, he squeezed his eyes and attempted to feel enlightened. Nothing. All he saw was the cracked ceiling and a couple rusty pipes. Musicians he knew always boasted of the inspiration around them. He only saw reality.

Maybe that was his problem. With a sigh, Nickolai stood and began to walk around the darkened room for a blanket or two. He knew they wouldn't let him out till morning and his cold showed no breaking.

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This is a short story I wrote with a simple prompt because I was bored. No real meaning, take it as you like. Tell me what you thought, if you dare. Haha.