[Nightmares again. The bloodied, slackened faces of his dead mother and father, aunts and uncles, grandparents. "Why?" That's what they ask him. Why wasn't he strong enough? Why hadn't he died with the rest of them? Their cold, rotting hands reach out to claw at his face, and just as he feels those fingers constricting his throat, the soft sound of the apartment door jolts him from his slumber.]
[He's sweating, briefly covering his face with his hands before he forces himself up and out of bed. He's not going back to sleep tonight. He can't. It was one of those dreams. Soundlessly, he gets out of bed with the intention of pacing through the dark apartment. He needs something to get his mind off of it--anything.]