The Vortex of Hell

I have been in the vortex of hell and I know its' name:
Parent-Teacher Conferences.

In a dream last night hundreds of souls flooded through the junior high school. Circling. Looking. Desiring. Teachers, holding their gavels, sat at tables around the circumference of the gymnasium. They faced inward as parents slowly filed by, searching for the one to set them free.

A boy lives in a campground with his mother and three younger sisters. He can't always do his homework because the trailer is so small and the little girls need the lights turned out early. Their car broke down and as they waited for help they witnessed a crime.

A mother rushes up to a table, eyes bulging, gnashing her teeth. Her son is not on the honor roll.

The professionals saunter around, green eyes shining. They wear their job title like smudged lipstick, and occasionally experience vertigo as their minds cover gnawing thoughts with layers of diplomas and degrees. "My daughter did badly on the test because it was too easy!" the mother shrieks. Their daughter cannot be average.

A boy, distraught, begs for mercy. "I didn't have any missing assignments! You made a mistake! You have to call my mother and tell her! She will come down hard on me! You have to call her!" Men carry him away, and he does not struggle.

Children of the damned roll on the floor through the legs of the crowd while they wait for their turn at junior high.

And the principal and vice principal mingle and boast, laugh and turn. They catch one table empty, take a backward glance, spin and watch. The weight of constant surveillance bends their bones into organic shapes that will become future sculptures on the beaches of the apocalypse.

A boy whispers in my ear. And smiles.

A teacher believes the country will be taken down from within.

A 13 year old girl holds her bald baby, eyes darting around the crowd.

AJ calls and she is crying. Hurrying home in the pouring rain, she saw someone hit by a car on the dark empty streets of New York City. A deafening blow, and he is thrown through the air, landing at her feet on the wet pavement, unable to move, screaming for his girlfriend. The man who hit him sits in his van, silently watching before he drives away.

In my dream I wake up suddenly without my phone. The mother is mad at her son. The professionals are planning plans for the future. One hundred people are getting married in white dresses in a park. The kids eat ice cream. Birds fly overhead.