At hourly intervals for two weeks Finlay had pinched his wrist until a purple bruise flowered there. But it wasn’t until his nightshifts finished and he tried to get back into a normal sleep pattern that it worked.

As soon as the dream started he knew it was different – the colours more vivid, the surfaces shinier, the edges of the buildings drawn in neon. And the people stared at him too, as if he was in the wrong dream. Finlay pinched his wrist – painless.

His only decision now was who to look for first.

***

This piece of writing was inspired by the picture prompt provided by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for Friday Fictioneers 100 word (or so) group.

I’d love to receive comments and constructive criticism. Click here to read other people’s stories inspired by this picture or to join in.