“Your money’s no good here” & tortured: dream doubleplay

A duo for you this time, folks.

In the first dream, I’m wandering a market, trying to sell something. I’d go to a stall, they’d buy whatever it was I was selling, and then I’d request something of theirs. They’d give it to me, but wouldn’t take my money. This happened over and over, at stall after stall. “Your money’s no good here,” they’d say. They were all smiling as they said it, and the overall atmosphere of the dream was good, but I was becoming frantic, running around trying to complete the transactions.

In the second dream, I was being tortured in this medieval torture chamber. I’d been on the rack, had my tongue held in a scold’s bridle, been sat in a witch’s chair. When the dream began, I was being whipped with a cat o’nine tails. The lashes were like fire cutting into my back, and it seemed like each time I screamed, the next lash would be more painful.

Though my back was turned toward whoever was wielding the cat, I could still somehow see that they were dressed completely in black, with a hood covering their face. I was tired and in pain, and wanted only to die so that the pain could stop. I knew somehow that I was waiting for the executioner.

Finally, I heard steps coming toward the room. The heavy wood door opened, and someone came in. During this time, the lashes had been coming steadily, each worse than the one before. But suddenly, the lashes stopped, and I was free.

I thought this odd; I was expecting the executioner to come in and finish me off quickly with little fuss. When I turned around, the person in the mask was being restrained by the executioner, and was being very loudly angry about it. There was screeching about how I needed to be punished, that without it I wouldn’t learn and do better, and ineffective struggles to get away.

The executioner shook the person in the mask and they quieted somewhat. “No more,” said the executioner (still calling them that because that’s what I thought).

Over yelps and protests, the executioner pulled the mask off.

It was my face.

I stared and my twin started spewing more invectives, only to be shaken yet again.

“Look deeper,” said the executioner, and pulled at my twin’s face. It came off like a mask and it was my mother standing there, still spewing abuse.

And I woke up.

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