Insomnia

Alex couldn't sleep.

He lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling, hands fisting his sheets in a white-knuckled grip.

Blood was dripping from the plaster above him, rhythmically splattering drops of red into his eyes. They would land on his tense forehead and run down the crevices of his face, mingling with his tears.

There was a pool of blood collected on the ceiling, settled among the rough bumps of the textured surface. More was seeping through the corners of the room as he watched, puddling above his head, glimmering darkly in the dull shine of the moon.

It's not real, he told himself, eyes full of paralyzed fear. It's not real.

But it felt like it.

So Alex stayed awake, petrified, soaking in the blood of his friends, his enemies, and of strangers.

A/N: I really believe that there is no way that Alex could not develop PTSD, with all that he has been through. :( Poor little dude...

Ah! Also! I got this set of prompts from RayneWolfspeaker, over on deviantArt. I do not own these at all. :D