He woke up and looked around, not recognising where he was. Jolting to his feet, he whooped with joy.
It worked! The time machine worked! Either that or he was having one hell of a hallucination…
He looked down at his feet as they swam through the rainbow coloured, hard-packed floor, raised his hands to his face and saw them multiply, creating a misty slow-motion effect across his vision.
Right. Hallucination, then.
He sighed, now remembering the latest failed test. He’d barely escaped the explosion, gotten shitfaced, then followed someone his memory fuzzily remembered as being tall, pale, and smelling of engine oil, to wherever this was where he’d taken…whatever it was he’d taken.
At least he hadn’t been robbed, beat up, and left for dead.
He groaned and lay back, watching the patterns on the ceiling swirl prettily. He’d go back to work on the machine again tomorrow.
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Writing prompt used: