The Vortex: Part 1

The Vortex: Part 1

The Vortex.


Thunder rumbled overhead. It boomed and crashed and loomed above me like a hungry animal. Lightning trickled ominously into the sky, then, suddenly, flashed violently into view, driving itself into the ground in a suicide dive. Thunder roared after its brother, shaking the earth. Rain cascaded down, drowning everything in torrents of icy teeth that cut deep into flesh, freezing bone. The grey world was darkening. Lightning reached out again, slanting itself across my view, scarring the ground with force and malice unmatched. Then It came. Rising up out of the distance, It twisted and turned and grew. Like a hurricane It decimated the grasslands around me, tearing and devouring and destroying. I trembled and stood before It alone as It soared into the deep, dark clouds above. Winds tumbled about me, clawing at my very being. All I could feel or hear or see was the Vortex.
I woke with a start. Breathing heavily as if the air was too thick for me to take in, I sat up. Clutching my head in my hands, I waited for the dream to release its hold on me. My body shivered. I was covered in a cold sweat, like I had just come in from a rainstorm, but there had not been any rain for days, at least, not outside. Shifting my self, I layed my head against the backboard of my bed and concentrated on breathing normally. My entire body ached. My mind, still foggy with the remnants of sleep, tried futilely to assess the situation and make sense of my surroundings. I had the dream again. It was the second time this week that it had appeared to plague my sleeping consciousness with its fury and emotion. Looking up at the ceiling, I tried to recall what exactly it was that I could have been so afraid of, but nothing seemed to come.

There was a click and my radio turned on. A pleasing, sad melody of guitar and bass thrummed through the small speakers. “…Welcome to the hotel California, Such a lovely place, Such a lovely face, Plenty of room at the Hotel California, Any time of year, you can find it here…” The Eagles were always nice to hear in the morning. I had always hated it when a loud, vulgar song emblazoned itself across my room, waking me, intense displeasure on my mind. Softer music was nice to dull the blow of the morning, waking me calmly and gradually. Sighing, I turned off my radio-alarm clock as the song ended and got out of the previously violated sanctity of my bed as my unused muscles knotted in protest. I looked around my room. As I expected, it was the way I had left it. The serious samurai on my wall hanging gazed down at me with wisdom in his eyes, as if he knew everything, but would not tell a word. My books, carefully placed on my bookshelf, beckoned to me, trying to give me a place to retreat from my cold world, but I had no time. School started in an hour and I had to get ready. Putting the events of the previous night out of my mind, I wandered over to the TV, wondering what the weather was going to be like.

The Vortex, my unrelenting dream, had just started reappearing. It had begun attacking me a few months ago, but had subsided, like all storms do. Last week it had come to me again. Then, on Monday, it had wracked my mind with Thunder and Lightning and Rain once more, but It came closer last night, closer than I had ever been to it in any of my previous dreams. It had always been so far away. Most of my dreams are fanciful and full of random events that make absolutely no sense, but make me very glad to dream them anyway. Once, I was a shape shifter that saved all my rainbow monkey friends from the villainous acts of Captain Hook, who was planning to sell them to make Spam. Thankfully, I was able to turn into a unicorn and push him down an elevator shaft. I even got a medal for it. Another time, I was being chased by ninjas who happened to be throwing skyscrapers at me. I was so swift at evading them I was even able to save a pregnant lady from a car bomb. Now, all that I ever see is the Vortex, no monkeys or pirates or ninjas, just storms.

Rushing up to the top of the hill at the end of my street with terrible anxiety, my heart pumped as if I was being pursued by a great hydra. My backpack jumped up and down with each step, hurrying me along as I ran. I felt like I was carrying Yoda on my back. Nearing the edge, a yellow monster snorted and greeted me, opening its mouth wide to swallow me whole. With uneasy thoughts, I reached up for the railing along the side of its gaping maw and climbed its teeth, taking a seat near the end of its long body. It snorted again and closing its mouth, it started to move. Snarling down the road, it sped on toward its lair, shifting and squealing with each slight bump on the path. Nearing its home, it slowed down. Letting it’s captives out, it roared away, scheduled to come back and finish us later. I walked as if there were weights on my legs. Climbing the stairs, I entered the school, as I always do 5 out of 7 days of the week. A tinkering bell startled me and a rush of other students pushed pass me to reach their classes. I followed the congested hallway, thinking myself just another lemming running toward the edge of the precipice.

The dulled, old blue lockers stood straight and tall as I reached my own S150. My locker stood out a grey along side its blue siblings, but neither it nor I seemed to care. Taking my books, I scrambled to close it and ran up the stairs with the stampede of other students, trying to reach my first period class. I was oblivious to anything else around me. My arms throbbed as I clutched the thick texts and my legs groaned under me as I trailed passed others of my kind. I always had to carry all of my books to classes because my locker seemed to be perpetually on the opposite side of the building. It didn’t matter anyway; my head was too clouded with weariness at the moment to react to the pain.

I reached the classroom eventually. Entering the crowded, noisy room, I imagined I was incarcerated in a high security prison, only with fewer benefits. I put my books under my chair and sat down, glad to relieve myself of a little of my burden. Assembling an array of overused binders and broken books, I made ready for class to begin. Another bell sounded and I breathed a heavy, tired sigh as I sank into my seat. Class started. The teacher came in and started addressing the matters of the day. We all stood for the pledge as the announcements came on. I said it in Latin as I had always done since freshman year and recited it in a low, quiet voice so no one would hear me, fearing that it would make me feel even more out of place than I already did. Sitting again after the moment of silence, I started to doodle on my homework papers in a dazed manner. Roaring dragons lifted off from the pages and assaulted the presidents, who biliously fought back with cherry tree axes and sharpened ink quills. The teacher droned on and warbled certain things that I should have listened to, but my mind was too thickly veiled in lassitude. All the words started running together in a blur of boredom and fatigue. I knew in the back of my mind that I should pay attention, but I couldn’t find the strength to. Unnoticed, I attempted to stab myself with a pencil, in hopes of shocking my body out of its sleepiness, but I didn’t have the heart to and slumped back in my chair, overcome with animosity for my subconscious, who took away my spirit and vivacity with nocturnal nightmarish visions, killing my energy and vitality as I slept.

All my classes were the same. The teacher would go on long tirades I was too exhausted to take in and learn from. I appreciated what they were trying to help me understand and I hated myself for not showing proper respect and listening. I knew it would cost me. As another bell buzzed for lunch, I pulled myself out of my seat and dragged the deadweight of my body to the locker, then my lunch table. Putting a happy, silly smile for my friends, I pretended that nothing at all was wrong. I was a very good actor. It was hard though, not to slump over into a pile of hollowness. Still, I managed to force myself to look optimistic and full of life and fooled them all. Hoping to avoid dropping dead in one of my classes, I bought a package of gummy sharks and munched away at them. Math class was always the hardest to get through, even if I had been my usual energetic self I had trouble staying awake in that class, but it was the fourth and last class of my day. I would get through it, or die trying.

Walking into the math room, I dumped my books on my desk and sat down. I had never fallen asleep in any of my classes before and no chimera of harsh reveries would stop me, not now. As the class started up, I took notes to pass the time and help keep myself awake, trying to keep my weary mind occupied with logic, instead of fantasy. The minutes passed like centuries. After a short while, my head started to grow heavy and my mind began to slow down as if someone was numbing it. No matter what I did, my brain seemed to lag behind, limping along with the storm of my chaotic, tired mind clashing against it. The sun shone through the window, caressing my face, enticing me into sleep as I sat, pencil in hand. I would not sleep. I could not sleep. My pencil slipped out of my hand, clattering quietly down on my tawny desk. My eyes slowly, laboriously traveled over to it as it descended down the incline. Reaching out for it, as if in slow motion, I tried to save it before it fell to the ground, but it slipped through my fingers, plunging down to reach the cold, hard tile. The bell rang. I hadn’t even noticed the time. The students around me clamored about, rushing to the door, eager to get out and be free. Still reaching for the pencil, I flinched as someone unknowingly kicked it out of the way. A stampede followed and I was unable to see where it went. Giving up for just a moment, I got my supplies in order and arduously lifted the useless items off my desk. My small pencil lay in a corner, smashed to pieces by the tempest of hoofish shoes. Gingerly, I picked up the pieces and layed them to rest in my binder, it was the last pencil I had from my trip to Korea.

Nearly missing the bus, it opened its sideways jaws for me once more and I stepped in. The ride home was a blur, but my mind was oddly focused. Every bright light seemed to grow brighter and hurt my eyes, so I was content to just stare at the back of the seat in front of me. The monster let me and my siblings off at the top of the hill and pulled away sharply, as if to chase another student somewhere down the road. As I walked ahead of the group, my sister skipped after me with her usual alacrity and insisted upon walking with me. She hated walking home alone, but I had become used to it and did not appreciate her company. She talked to me about all manners of things that I did not want to hear at the moment, so I faked listening. Returning home, the brown grass waved a hello, but I didn’t notice it. The dog was let out and bounded out to us like some miniature, fluffy gazelle, hoping to be petted and papered, but I passed him and went straight to the door, leaving my brother and sister to tend to him. I trudged upstairs, hoping to get a head start on my homework before I had to go driving. Oh how I loath that car.

Typing away on my computer, I stared blankly into the white screen of MS Word and concentrated on writing a somewhat informative essay for History about the effects of the Civil war on modern medicine. It was like trying to translate War and Peace into Latin. Though, eventually, after a few hours of furiously typing away, I was done. My hands pained me and my tired mind could not think, but I was done. I was lucky that my father had opted not to get me to drive today. I would have driven into a telephone pole and gotten both of us killed. I couldn’t see or move or think, so I took my shower instead. The hot water was always nice to soothe my unwilling muscles. It was wonderful to just relax for once.

Getting out, a rush of cold air came to meet me and I shivered. I hated the cold. The folds of my towel warded off some of it, but it still managed to seep into my body, inching its way up me from the hard linoleum floor of the bathroom. I tried to ignore it the best I could. Brushing my teeth, I looked at my clock. 11:38 pm glowed a radioactive neon against the black of its body. It didn’t seem to startle me too much, that was about the normal time I went to bed, weather because of homework or from goofing off. Finishing up, I pulled the decorative pillows off the cream colored bedspread and set them in a neat pile at the side of my bed where I always put them. I shut of my light, the only light left in the house except for the luminous, but ominous numbers on my radio alarm clock. I said my prayers and crept under my sheets, covering my head with their protective warmth. The day was done. I had to sleep.


Thunder rumbled overhead.