Figment

I step into my newest patient’s dream on a Friday night and despite the recent Somnology ban. Rent and groceries don’t pay themselves, and I’m still looking for him.

The dream manifests as a cinema, the credits rolling silver on black, no sounds and the smell of stale popcorn in my nose. In the deserted auditorium, a single dark-haired figure flickers in and out of sight. I’d recognise the silhouette anywhere.

“Mo!” I breathe, heart melting in my chest. Morpheus’ voice echoes in my head, strong and proud: I knew you’d dare find me, love.