I’ve always had dreams, but over the last few nights, I’ve had the same disturbingly dark dream. Or, perhaps I should call it what it is, a horrifyingly vivid nightmare
of suffering a blood-soaked, agonizingly torturous death.
I’m a prisoner within a torch-lit torture chamber suffering at the hands of the inquisition. My naked body stretched taut upon the mercilessly cruel rack, every metallic
click of the rack’s gears gradually drawing my body agonizingly tighter. Still, the torturous brutality of that rack pales in comparison to the torments I’m helplessly
enduring. Hot irons, sharp skewers, obscene flesh-ripping tools, and unforgiving whips painfully mutilate my flesh. While deep inside me, a horrifying vaginal pear is
slowly opening and now is only a few turns of its screw away from brutally tearing my insides apart.
The opportunity to confess my heresy and witchcraft is long past. Tonight, there will be no mercy, no last-minute reprieve. This night of unspeakable horrors ends in my
slow and torturous death, screaming in unrelenting agony as I die for the grand inquisitor’s amusement.
Still, it’s only a dark dream, but more profoundly disturbing, perhaps it’s also a darkly erotic and utterly terrifying omen of my future. Exodus 22:18, “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.”