I had this incredibly reality-like dream a few months ago and I would welcome your interpretation. It stayed with me a long time and even reading it now evokes a host of emotions.

Thank you for your time, and many smiles to you all.

MOLLY

2016

We were there. In that place where vacations happen. I believe the setting might have been an RV or a hotel room and there were four of us, two of each gender.

White tablets, I assumed to be XTACY, lay on the table. We broke some up, took them and soon the effects were upon us. One of the males was my brother and I became concerned that the drug might have an adverse effect on him and that we would argue to the point of violence. Strangely I found myself surprised that I never considered this before ingesting the molly and it made me a bit nervous. However, as time went on, everything seemed to be going smoothly, with everyone becoming friendly and warm, laughing and being silly. Then suddenly he, who was now my son and not my brother, and I were whisked away and into the back seat of a car. We were in terrible danger.

I'm uncertain why this detail was so predominant, but the man driving was a large, menacing and heavily armed Black man; a drug dealer of the worst sort and he had kidnapped us for some unknown reason. At this point, I felt as if we were in another country, but I have no idea where. As we drove, I happen to see that a police car had ducked in behind us. I mouthed, “cop behind us” to my son and he vanished like the wind. Literally. I never saw him tuck and roll, the door open, nor anything - he was just gone. I remembered thinking, “why did you leave me???”, then I remembered he had some little something in his pocket that might get him in trouble with the authorities. Somehow, I 'heard' him tell me this and he also 'told ' me that he would return for me. I had no idea what lay ahead, my heart ached and I was so very frightened and alone.

I was taken into a shabby, very dangerous, part of town and made to wait in a dark, dingy room of a ramshackle building that consisted of several rudimentary rooms with dirt floors and was occupied by women and girls of all ages.

The man left hurriedly as something urgent demanded his attention.

I saw many young girls in various stages of captivity and torture. There was a process underway in which the girls sat around a large dining table with their bare feet on it while an older woman supervised a somewhat younger one to pull the toenails from their feet and replace them with something fake. Metal, perhaps? This replacement was decorated with great detail and apparently considered beautiful by the men who held the captives. The eyes of the girls were blank, dead, and numb.

I waited. I could see outside, the street, by looking through a series of rooms and a sliver of window. I kept looking for the white shirt my son was wearing, wondering why he hadn't emptied his pocket and come after me!

Suddenly, I'm sitting on the top step outside the front door but I know I can not leave. A child approaches me with searching eyes and those eyes land on a tiny toy that lay just behind me and to my left. He began to growl and lunge at the toy. I swatted him away, fearful that he would bite or claw me. Finally, he left and an adorable, yet haggard, little girl replaced him. The toy had been 'replaced' by a clear plastic container, actually there were 3. I'm not certain what they contained, food maybe, but it was something that the child desired. She lunged at me with such violence that my first reaction was to grab her throat. I held her, my fingers almost meeting because her throat was so tiny. I could feel her spine; I could feel her dying. I let go and she gasped for air then asked me, “why are you so mean?” I knew then that she was living the only life she had ever known and that the odds of her reaching maturity were practically zero. I felt pity, and pain for her. Other kids came around, but they didn't attack, yet their eyes were constantly searching for anything they might take from me. One even plucked a piece of straw from my shoulder that had attached itself to me at some point. They were very good at their craft and I, for a moment, almost understood the pride some criminal mothers feel when they see their children forging this path.

I kept looking for my son and not understanding why I was still there. Why had he not come to rescue me? Then I realized that if he did they would kill him. I tried my phone - why hadn't he taken this from me? why hadn't I tried to reach the police? - but it wouldn't work.

This is when I woke up.