Maybe its the ambient noise from the dehumidifier in my old basement, or maybe it’s the fact that I’m in completely pitch black darkness. Maybe its the old blankets I used to use when I lived here nine years ago, on top of the mattresses which used to be my old bed.
Apparently, much like how I’ve signed up, or planned to be participating in many more runs and obstacle courses, in this dream, I had been running in several different zombie runs. For all I know, this girl might have been one of the actual zombies I ran past just a few weeks ago. But for intents and purposes, I had apparently run in zombie runs in Virginia, Toronto, Miami and Boston. Each time, I noticed that I came across this one girl who was always participating in her own right, as a zombie.
The encounters were always brief, since I always in escape mode most of the time, but with this girl, I always lingered. Whether it was because I was playing possum, or it was a one-on-one encounter, leading me to take my time and attempt to get up in their grill before trying to get around them. The fact of the matter was that I kept running into the same girl several times over, and she was apparently appealing to me, even all dressed up as a zombie.
I happened to run into this girl again, in an unidentifiable city. As all the previous iterations, she was dressed up as a zombie. This wasn’t another zombie run, so I wasn’t in escape mode, but it’s believed she was actually working to promote something necessitating people dressed as zombies. This time, I stopped to chat with her, and eventually got her to break character. I told her that recognized her, but it was obvious that she couldn’t reciprocate. But based on the location names I rattled off having seen her in the past, she realized that I wasn’t just blowing smoke. I’m getting mixed signals, which I can understand, given the spontaneity of the encounter, and the fact that I’m probably a terrible flirt, so I decide that I don’t want to blow it; I finally just ask for her name, before moving along.
Whitlock. What an unusual name. I actually have the audacity to ask really? She says yes. A part of me still doesn’t believe it, but I don’t say anything. It reminds me of Nightlock, the poisonous berries that exist in the land of The Hunger Games, but Whitlock it is. I smile and say what a pleasure it is to finally have made her acquaintance, and begin off on my merry way.
I’m but a block over, when I feel hand on my shoulder, and turn to find a smiling Whitlock standing before me. But now she’s no longer in zombie regalia, and in a green dress with no zb makeup on, she’s even cuter than ever. She tells me that despite her initial reluctance, she had a good feeling about me, and figured to not let the moment slip past. And that I apparently was fairly successful at flattering her, based on the sort of blushed reddened cheeks.
I think about how many times I’ve walked away from a girl after an initial pleasant encounter, only to feel regretful for not pushing it just a hair more, and actually try to get somewhere. About how that was just about to happen again, if not for Whitlock’s own initiative. And how I probably would have been kicking myself if she didn’t follow me, and pessimistically believe that I probably wouldn’t run into her again in the future given my luck.
So suddenly, we’re pleasantly walking together down a city street, and somewhere along the line the conversation heads towards food. Eventually, I bring up the world’s greatest food, which in this dream turns out to be these mint-chocolate chip ice cream sandwiches, that aren’t that easy to find. But coincidentally, this church we’re standing right next to seems to have them. I become delirious about pursuing these ice cream sandwiches, and wanting Whitlock to try them for herself. After circling around the church, we get inside, and raid the fridge. I retrieve two ice cream sandwiches for us, and then we make our way out.
I wake up, and frantically try to remember everything I can about this dream. I’m amazed I remember Whitlock’s name. I’m amazed I remember so much about this dream. Maybe it’s the pitch blackness. And here I sit now, brogging about my dreams. But in about 15 minutes, I know I’m going to go running.
