I am on a retreat of some sort in an open air patio having lunch with a man I have never met before. He has beautiful jet black hair and is very fair-skinned with a shallow brow and pale eyes. In reality I would emulate Mr. Darcy and chalk him up as, “tolerable I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me.” That being said, he has these gorgeous hands perpetually covered in rich earth as if he is working with his hands constantly. He asks me what movie scared me the most as a child, and, true to reality I tell him that I’ve never been able to finish The Mothman Prophecies movie. It was as if I’d given a five-year old an otter pop. His face lit up, and he reached out for my hand. Taking it, he pulled me upstairs to a flat above the pavilion. He sat me down on a red velvet chair in front of an old television set.
He popped in an ancient video tape and giddily stumbled back over to the couch to sit with me. It was the dreaded movie. I tried to watch it, but became so overcome with fear that I began to cry and begged him to shut it off. This was effectively the beginning of the end of our short relationship. I returned to my own home and saw that I already had a missed call from him. We met up and went on a walk, one of my favorite real life date activities, but it just didn’t feel right, my mind was wandering and I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. By the end of our encounter he had shown his true colors, he was nothing but an ugly, jealous person with no regard for me beyond the superficial.