Maybe this could qualify as what used to be called a nightmare, but my dream persona itself felt no actual terror. We were standing, we being a group of adults, contemplating what had happened to several among us who had been taken away, for some reason or another. Suddenly a terrible sound emanated from somewhere, undefinable and mortally loud and deep. There was a small transistor radio, tan with reddish striping, which fell from a shelf over some type of workbench onto a nearby table. The sound had come from that, and the sound had now changed to words, the words being screamed out: "Please somebody kill me." Over and over again. And now there were actual images of the source of the awful moans and pleas, in the form of a real-time depiction enclosed in a small pink capsule, which contained what we thought could only be the tortured soul. We were powerless to help, but we could feel the terrible pain.
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