This week’s #writephoto prompt is

‘Excuse me, young lady!’

Jane Footpad jerked back. She was pretty sure she was dreaming; how often did a blue door appear on the work surface when making brownies and equally how often can you step through said door as if the work surface wasn’t there?

Though the ‘stepping through’ piece was now blocked by an irritated (and Jane already thought irritating) short round plum, only this plum, despite it looking very plum-like had a face – well, features, there was no distinction between the body and the head – and an unusually aggressive manner for a soft fruit.

Jane prodded the plum-person. Her finger went in and would have kept going in if she hadn’t pulled back.

The plum-person waited until she stopped prodding. ‘You finished?’

Jane nodded, disconcerted. She was pretty sure she’d never ‘felt’ before in her dreams but she’d definitely ‘felt’ the plum-person’s stomach. She looked into the plum-person’s eyes.

‘Yes I’m a plum. No I don’t have any abs. Yes if you’d kept pressing, you’re finger would have gone right in. No you don’t want to know what might have happened had you done so.’

This was a bit too… real. Her dreams were normally vague and…

‘Are you coming through or not?’

‘Should I?’

‘It’s your dream, lady, you tell me. Only make up your mind as I’ve another fifteen dreams to get to.’

‘You’re in other dreams?’

The plum-person did something that may have been a shrug but without shoulders, who really knew. ‘It’s a job. And it beats being jam. So, in or out?’

‘This is a dream still?’

‘What’s behind you?’

Jane looked round. An oiled pig with the face of Boris Johnson grinned back at her. She looked at the plum-person. ‘Is that…?”

‘Do you want to find out?’

Jane stepped forward. ‘Not really.’

As she crossed the threshold, her first day at Primary School appeared, only in sepia tints and smelling strongly of after shave and cardamom. The plum-person had gone, replaced it seemed by a sewing machine. Despite being a sewing machine, Jane asked it, ‘is this the way to Thursday?’

The sewing machine rattled for a moment before a monogrammed doily appeared with the words, ‘Jupiter’s Pendulum’ stitched to the front.

The sewing machine stepped back and another wooden door appeared. Jane opened it. On the far side the plum-person and the oiled pig Boris broke apart. Boris-pig was a dark shade of cerise, though the plum stilled looked plum coloured. Jane put her hands on her hips. ‘I’m disappointed.’ The fruit-porcine combo slunk away as Jane put the brownies in the fridge and checked the temperature.

‘Good night’s sleep? You fidgeted a fair bit.’ John Footpad put a cup of tea next to Jane’s side of the bed.

She rubbed her face. ‘I had the weirdest of dreams.’ Even as she spoke she felt the details beginning to dissolve. ‘I shouldn’t eat cheese late at night.’

John slipped back into bed and sipped his tea. He nodded. ‘Maybe that explains why there are brownies in the fridge.’