Some of you may have noticed that I change the chapter because one, it makes no sense, two it still needs editing and three, is because someone reviewed my story negatively and I take it as criticism to make my stores better. So tell me what you think, and i'll accept it as a way of saying, this need improvement.
Carrie woke up from her alarm clock. She slammed her hand on the metal, making it stopped ringing. She stretched out her arms and sighed in disappointment and fear, time to go into the lion's mouth.
The thought of going to school made her so sick to her stomach but what else could she do? She is always to go and if she dare try to skip school, she'll get punished for what she did. And the punishments were always severe.
Ever since that time in first grade, when she bent on her knees to pray during lunch, she was greeted with painful, ugly, remarks. And that constant jeering, the sick laughter, the cruel sneers, all directed at her.
Her own jealousy of people who had friends, who were happy with their lives, who had the will to smile, it made her want scream in rage.
The glares she received, the snarls she had thrown at her, and the hate in their eyes. There was no end to it. It always would be the same int the end.
Every single damn day, and for what?
Why won't they just stop?
The loneliness, the pain, the suffering, all because she was different. Being different wasn't a bad thing, but to Carrie, it was a curse. A curse that she was born with. A curse that would stay until the end of high school.
However, school was nothing compared to this house she was born in.Well it was better than here, she thought, gripping her bed sheets. School may have been the lion's mouth, but home was the Demon's Den. Correction; it is the Devil's Den and it belonged to the Devil whom knew as Momma, Margaret White nee Brigham, her mother.
To her, Margaret was a devil in human skin. The way she acted towards her, the hate she always gave, and abuse she inflicted on her those many years.
Not a moment was there love in her eyes, not even a flicker love fondness sparked in them.
You are a curse that I bore!
But despite all that, she couldn't help love her, as if Margaret never hurt her. She was still the woman who gave birth to her, so she had at least the right to be called Momma.
She pushed her thoughts away when she caught the delicious smell of grits on the stove. It made her stomach growl, the constant ache telling her to go get something to eat. Hungry, she threw the covers off her and got up, hesitating. If she didn't get out of sooner or later, Margaret would likely force her to get up.
The strings in her legs made her wobble a bit as she made her way to the bathroom. Opening the door, she went in and closed it behind her, locking it to make sure Margaret didn't barge in whenever she wanted to.
She didn't have a shower, only a vintage tub. Margaret thought that showers were evil, and forbid her from using them at school. She didn't listen though, everyone has to shower after P.E, and if that means disobeying her mother, then it includes her.
Turning both handles and pulling out the plug, lukewarm water filled the tub and she got in when it was almost full. She grabbed the bar of soap and began cleansing her body. The water got colder but she ignored it, she was almost done anyways.
She unplug the tub, letting it drain and got out. Her body immediately got cold. So she reached for her yellow towel and dried herself with it. After she was done with it, she tied the towel around around her figure, and went to the sink.
The mirror glinted from the headlights, framed my a plastic green rim, it's reflective glass showing her image.
Strawberry blonde hair that fell in tangles to her mid back. Pale, oily, dry skin was like a sheet of ice. Pimples on her forehead, neck, chin. Her cheeks were red, naturally blushed. Her pale lips chapped, never once had lip gloss or chap stick smeared on them, underneath them were pearly white teeth. Her were blue-green, a dull teal color that were frame by thin, short, brown eyelashes. Her face was small, heart shaped and had a soft jaw.
She cringed at herself, revolted at how she looked. Her mother used to be so beautiful, and her father was said to be striking himself. Yet, why wasn't she beautiful, why didn't she look good like the other girls. Despite her efforts to look pretty, it never worked. She even put lipstick on, hell, she didn't like lipstick and it didn't work.
Biting her lip, she looked away.
She used to be pretty, that's whats she used to hear, but she thought that people were just saying that to be nice. Any guy would just come up to her and say that she's ugly straight to her face, not that she cared if they did, she would just ignore them and tearfully walk away with hurt stinging her chest, silently listening to their laughter.
Ugly.
Her clothes didn't help her either, they were so old, so out of style. It didn't enhance her appearance, only made it worse. She once summed up the courage to go an ask her but she was given a large no. After constant persisting and rejections, she ended up getting slapped and sent to the prayer closet. She never asked again after the experience.
Margaret thought that looking attractive was a sin, she was always told that. She constantly did things to worsen her face, like making her pies that would give her pimples, or giving her an old brush instead of a comb.
She grabbed Arm & Hammer toothpaste, she uncapped the top and squeezed some on her toothbrush. The taste of baking soda tingled her tongue, she felt the work of the baking soda doing it's job as she scrubbed her teeth. A plastic cup sat in cabinet, by the sink and above the toilet. Reaching to grab, she clutched it, filled it with water and drank it. She swished it around the inside of her mouth for a while and spat it out into the sink.
Carrie stared at the sink, and looked up, only to see the same goddamn face that belonged to her and her only. She gripped the sides with anger and glared at the mirror, wanting to smash it into pieces. You're so ugly, why do you even try to look pretty, one of her female classmates said it before when she was in the bathroom.
She heard it as if someone was here, someone mocking her. Then she realized, it was her own mind that said it, filled with memories that were nothing but pain.
The lights flicker on and off, she expected them to blow out but they didn't. Instead, they fizzled and sparked.
She turned to exit the bathroom, not wanting to see herself anymore. Still angry, she threw open the door, turned off the light and didn't bother putting on lotion, she stored several of them in her locker.
She was angry, angry that she wasn't pretty, angry that she was no where near attractive, and angry at the fact that she is ugly.
You're Ugly, it ran repeatedly over and over again. She was ugly, and she knew that she was. Correction; is.
The emotion of anger swept away as she searched for clothes to wear in her drawer. Disgust made it's way onto her face, her clothes were disgusting. They looked like they were bought from an antique store, that was run down for a decade! Margaret would buy her new clothes, clothes that were sold at a thrift store and no one one wanted them. The woman couldn't even pick out something decent! To her own eyes it looked decent, but to other people (including her), thought someone had made it long time ago.
Her eyes settled on a brown patterned blouse and khaki skirt. She scrunched her nose, and took the clothes. What's worse, the fact that she's ugly or the fact that her clothes were uglier.
She slipped into her shirt and fastened her skirt, it was made of cotton and wool, her skin was only used to it. She put on her grey flats, slipping them on her small feet. She felt the sudden urge to look at herself in the mirror, to see how hideous she looked. But instead, she grabbed her bag and exited the room.
The smell of grits grew as she stepped down the stairs, her flats making sounds as she walked down the final steps. She listened to her footsteps until she was in the kitchen.
There was Margaret, dressed in black as usual, by the stove. A wooden spoon in her right hand and the other holding the pot that had the grits in them. Margaret turned to look at Carrie and she smiled, a smile that she knew was fake. Her navy eyes pierced into her soul, contempt in them. She knew Margaret tried to hide it, but didn't work on her.
"Good Morning Carrie, did you pray?" Margaret said in a sweet voice. She could sense the despise in her tone and a hint of anger in it. She guessed that she was still angry from last night, when she was caught Carrie wearing the lace bra she bought from the drug store. She could still feel the sting of the bruises and her mother's shouts in her ear.
"Good Morning Momma, yes I did." Carrie replied.
She sat down in one of the chairs, dropping her bag besides her and watch as Margaret to set a bowl in front of her along with a glass of water. She picked up her spoon and was about to eat when Margaret gave her a sharp, cold look.
She had forgotten to pray again.
Quickly setting down the utensil, she folded her hands and prayed. Margaret nodded at her,"That is my good girl."
Carrie nearly rolled her eyes at what she said, she had to pray every time she needed to eat, she only did it because Margaret would punish her. One time when she had refused to pray, Margaret had slapped her in the face and sent her to the prayer closet.
After she prayed, she started eating. The grits were so good, she hungrily devoured it all when her mother wasn't watching, to Margaret, it was bad table manners. The grits were soon gone and she stopped eating to take a gulp of water. It ran down her throat, soothing it.
Margaret was packing her purse, a black purse, with everything she needed for work. It dawned on Carrie that she wore black everyday. Never had she seen her mother dress in any other color, her nightgown was an exception, instead it was pure white silk.
Carrie got up from her seat, ready to leave. She slouched her shoulders, watching her mother grab her fur, black coat from the coat rack and leave. She usually left for work at the laundromat.
Margaret used to bring her along, either to help her fold clothes or read her bible while she worked. It always smelled like laundry soap and bleach, with a mixing of laundry detergent and the smell of socks. She would complain about it, but after a whipping from her mother, she kept her mouth.
The wipping reminded her of the times Margaret hurt her, like the time she clawed her face with her arm, or stealing a penny from the grocery store and sent her to the closet for five hours.
Margaret thought her own daughter was the embodiment of Sin. And she never failed to remind her. If her father was still here, then maybe, just maybe, things would have been so much better.
Carrietta "Carrie" N. White "
Appearance: She is a 15 teen year old girl, with pale blonde hair, sea green eyes, a button nose, pale skin that were glowed in the sunlight, a skinny figure.
Personality: She's shy, timid but outward girl. She's a religious christian and tends to be naive about things because of her mother cultist ways. She can be extremely sensitive, but whens she had enough she can get aggressive and pissed off.
Abilities: She's telekinetic and telepathic.
Margaret White: In this story she's more of a background character , but in like in the 2013 movie she's the mother of Carrie, she's religious, cult fanatic,crazy and insane because of her mental illness. She abuses Carrie but instead of her dying she'll change her ways.
Appearance: Messy red hair, dull skin, coal eyes and deranged and maimed all over her body.
Personality: Insane, psychotic and abusive
Ralph White: He isn't dead he just lives in Canada. He got away from Margaret
Appearance: He's a handsome man that's where Carrie got all her looks from, same blonde hair, sea green eyes, oval shaped face, button nose and athletic body build.
Personality: He's a kind and genorous person that can help people, he's a christian but not religious as Margaret.
Abilities: Telekinetic, telepathic like his daughter and immense strength