General

Aleph gasped, his small body jerking upright in bed. The tangled sheets were damp with sweat, clinging to his legs like sea-weed. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage of bone. He was in his room. The room with the blue walls, where the only light came from the streetlamp outside, casting long, familiar shadows that looked nothing like the gaunt man from his dream.

It was just a dream.
It had to be.

“You lived. Your mother didn’t.”

Six words.