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he was falling before everything faded into black again.
     
     
     
    The next time he woke up it was to soft voices that faded into a comforting background din. He felt mentally exhausted but the rest of his body was numb as he blinked blearily and found himself staring up at the stark white ceiling again. After the initial deliriousness had worn off he tried to hone in on the voices. They were quiet and muddled and he could not make them out, but two of them sounded familiar. His family, maybe?
    And then w ith a sudden jolt of memory , that last image of himself lying in the hospital bed came back to him.
    Maybe it had just been a weird dream. He felt a little calmer at the thought, but waited until the voices from outsi de the curtain had faded away before attempting to push himself up. He made it to his feet and tried to lean on the bed again. Except this time, something strange happened. He let out a gasp of shock as his arm slid into the bed. He stared, eyes wide and horror sprouting inside of him from seeds of fear , at his hand which had now disappeared into the covers. The top half of his arm was still protruding from it. For a terrifying second, t he world spun and blurred in front of his eyes. He stumbled, nearly topplin g over, but then he heard a voice invading his chaotic thoughts.
    “Just calm down and pull your arm out of my bed, would you?”
    The words were utterly surreal and Sean’s legs threatened to give out again when he realised that it sounded like his voice. Exactly like his voice. He turned, still unable to s peak, to the owner. Propped up against the pillows was his own body; the same unruly dark hair, the same ashen skin, th e same untidy eyebrows and light freckles. There was only one big difference. Instead of his normal icy blue eyes, he found himself staring into two identical pools of dark burgundy.
    He was vaguely aware of sliding his hand out of the bed, not feeling anything at all, and then staring down at it in wonder. None of this felt real. How could it be when he was having a staring match with himself and his hand had just phased into a solid object?
    So he laughed at the absurdity of it all.
    His laugh sounded crazed, even maniacal, to his own ears. This was certainly the strangest dream he had ever had, and the most vivid. His other self – his body, or whatever else he could call it – frowned from the bed in bemusement.
    “What the hell’s so funny?” it as ked, sounding affronted.
    “This is all just a nightmare, that’s it,” Sean said, trying to convince himself most of all. “None of this is even real. I’ll just force myself to wake up.” He raised a hand, in an attempt to pinch himself awake. Yet w hen his fingers literally passed part way into his arm again, and he still could not feel anything solid, he began to get worried.
    “It’s not going to work, don’t bother,” came the unhelpful comment from his body.
    Of course this was going to work. It was just a nightmare a nd nightmares ended sooner o r later, even the worst ones. Sean turned back to the bed’s occupant, searching those unfamiliar eyes for answers. They were still amused, he noticed with some aggravation.
    “What do you know?” he asked scathingly, voice hoarse . “You’re just a figment of my imagination, so either sa y something useful or shut up.” It was a strange experience, talking to his own body as though it were someone else.
    “I know this must be hard for you to accept,” it said in a patronising tone. “But face it: this isn’t a nightmare, and I’m certainly not any part of your lacking imagination. Don’t insult me .”
    Sean glared. “Of course it’s a nightmare, how else is any of this possible?”
    “If you won’t listen to me and would prefer to spend the next few days trying to ‘wake yourself up’ then be my guest.”
    Sean just ignored it. The room looked real, it looked real, but it was just a mind game . He tried to pinch himself again, tried to hit