Jason had this penthouse apartment that was centrally located in Beverly Hills. He was incredibly clean, but in an overwhelming kind of way.
The carpet and stuff were spotless, the cabinets were plastic, and the paint was not chipping. I felt like I was in a Doctor’s office waiting room.
He was snoring loudly, and just at the right moment he opened his eyes.
“Ha! You are dead! This is a dream, right?”
I felt a bit offended, as I was obviously the one snoring.
“No, no!” He pointed at the clock. “It’s 4AM!” (Lucky number 8!).
“You’re a zombie! You’re dead and you’re dreaming!”
“I’m a zombie, alright!” I yawned and started to hack up zombie gore.
“Watch out!” He screamed and jumped out of the bed.
“All right, you monster! I’m dead and I’m dreaming! I’m dead and I’m dreaming!”
He chased me around the room.
“You’re not dead, you’re a zombie! You’re a zombie, that’s just what you are, a zombie, so it’s a dream!” He threw up his hands. “You can’t win!”
“I can’t win, yeah? That’s right, I can’t win. That’s my luck, ha-ha!”
I hope you like midnight horror flicks.” His face crinkled with confusion; the zombies smile that I was always afraid of flashing on.
“Well I didn’t say I was a horror movie person. Oh, that’s right, but you said, I’m dead and I’m dreaming, so that’s a horror movie, right?”
I thought about it.
“Okay, I guess it’s more like…like if a zombie comes to my door…”
:: 09.24.2020 ::