What He Meant By His Own Way

Once upon a time, there was a man who caught on fire. He burst in to flames and eventually turned in to a black pile on the ground, it looked a bit like pepper and was pleasantly crunchy.

But before that happened.

He was only ever happy if he was in a well decorated room. If the walls of a room were brown, cracked, or covered with AC/DC posters, he would cry and cry and cry and cry and cut his wrists and pull his teeth out and curl up in a ball and lie there, with assorted body fluids coming out on to the floor.

Which didn't make the room look any nicer.

His sister stood in the same room and typed on a laptop.

This is an action

Can one person type on laptop keys and another be the dust crushed beneath each fingeR?