Fixing The Door and The Usual Tiresome.

I finished taking a bath and went for the door to hang my towel. It was locked. From outside. Such was the case because the set-up of the locking system outside could lock people in just from simply closing the door. There was no panic, the thought of shouting resurfaced, but not enough to actually commence doing. My room's on the third floor; across, there were no people, at least no one I know, only a two-story building whose second one isn't halfway done. The floor became its roof.

I fixed it by forcing it open. There was no panic, an almost cry and tired shriek came out, but no more than that. No more than the usual tiresome, of course.