The game of torture

This from a couple of nights ago, I think after beer bust shenanigans at the Atomic.

I'm a woman, a mother, trapped with my husband and child. They've taken us captive, and we're going to be tortured, we know. We're led through corridors, the walls change around us. My husband is taken, and we have to watch. Though a green-tinted window, he is floated up in the air, somehow suspended horizontal. From above him descends brownish tentacles, eventually almost like the root ball of a tree. He's disoriented and screaming. The roots or tentacles suddenly drop, pound into his body. It's horrible.

I'm looking through specimen drawers, full of petrie dishes and jars, samples. They are failed experiments with my flesh and cells, all rotten & monstrous. (cf Ripley finding all of the failed clones in Aliens: Resurrection) I'm tempted, indeed, to go all Ripley & destroy everything, but I know they're watching and laughing at me, it's what they want. I won't play.

My son and I are taken to a place and turn into cartoons. My husband is there, too, and he and I become trees, we grow together, our roots move together, our branches. Our son is a turtle (Tootsie Roll commercial style). Suddenly, though, he turns into a frog, jumps up in our limbs and starts eating all the leaves. It's not our son, an imposter maybe the whole time, who knows where he is really. But now we're trees, we can't defend ourselves. The frog with eat our leaves and we will die. Sadness.