"Motels and Emancipation" by Kavya Kamath

Yes, this is another short story/creative writing piece. No, I'm not sorry. (Are you tired of them yet?)
So, you may be wondering how this relates to something we've done in class. (I was too, initially.)
Well, our first unit was on structure so I experimented with the structure of this story, isolating certain lines for emphasis/effect (and whatnot).

Hope you enjoy the story!

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Motels and Emancipation

          Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

          The soft plunk of water droplets sliding in through the crack in the roof plopped noisily into a tin can.

          Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

          The drips coincided with the loud analog clock mounted on the wall to his left. He couldn’t help but crack a smile. He was right, time and mother nature were allied against him. Softly, he sighed and glanced around the haphazard room. Moldy walls, cracked floor tiles, crappy mouse traps, and a leaky ceiling stared back at him. Years of neglect and unconcern had left the motel room in its pitiful state of disrepair.

          Kind of like me, the boy thought to himself.

          “Okay, think,” he muttered to himself. “I can do this. I can do this.” Quickly, the boy went to unlock the room door. Side-stepping the rifts in the floor, he peeped his head through the doorway to view a narrow, dingy hallway and numerous suspicious-looking carpet stains. The smell of rotten tomatoes wafted lazily through the damp air as the boy tentatively stepped into the cramped corridor. “Okay. Just be silent. That’s not too big of a deal, right?” Slowly, almost lethargically, he eased the door open. He had muddy socks on his feet and unwashed hair but he didn’t bother with that now.

          “C’mon, just shut the door. He won’t wake up. Just shut the door.”

          By now, a miracle must have occurred for the door not to have squeaked. But, alas, miracles are fickle, and the hinges let out a slight groan. The boy froze. All the little hairs on his arm stood tall and his heart leaped into his throat. He stopped dead, alert for the slightest of sounds, then heaving a sigh of relief when there weren’t any. He resumed attempting to shut the door when, from the inside of the room, he heard the faint sound of feather-light footsteps on the rotting floorboards. The boy's eyes widened, and, in an instant, he was at the other end of the hallway, flying down the stairwell and other dirty passageways until he reached the main lobby. He stopped to catch his breath, garnering strange looks of judgment and disapproval.

          Only a moment later, he heard a thunderous roar shake the entire building.

          It was the anger-filled howl, one he had grown all too familiar with, of the monster still in that motel room, likely blind with rage. The boy burst out of the motel faster than he had done anything in his life, because this time, he wasn’t just postponing the inevitable.

          This time, he could escape.

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A leaky ceiling that captures the tone of this story.