Chapter VI
From The Flame Ignited (p. 24)
In English class, Becky sat just across from Carrie in the back. She listened as Mr. Fromm read Tommy Ross's poem; there were sounds of paper being thrown and the scratches of Carrie's pencil as she wrote down the poem. Mr. Fromm was a fat, old English teacher wearing a pair of glasses. Becky hated the bastard because he always made fun of her or Carrie. She didn't give a shit if he made fun of her, but it just crossed the line when he poked fun at Carrie.
Becky felt tired from the push last night that the words Mr. Fromm read hummed in her ears like insects as he read a poem by Tommy Ross.
"Well, Tommy," he said. "This is fairly an impressive poem." To the class, "Well, class, any criticism?"
No one said a word.
"Anyone?"
"It's beautiful," Carrie said quietly.
"Carrie White!" said Mr. Fromm. "Beautiful? Beautiful!" The voice was high and mocking. The students laughed. "'O beautiful, spacious skies with fields of amber waves of grain...'" he said mockingly. "Is that the beautiful you mean, Carrie?"
Everyone laughed. Carrie said nothing.
"Fuck you," Becky whispered quietly, through her teeth.
"I'm sorry, Becky White," said Mr. Fromm, seeing Becky's lips move. "But did you say something?"
"Did I?" Becky said, feigning innocence.
"You did. What did you say?"
"I said," Becky said; the hate and anger boiled inside, matching the room temperature. "Fuck you, you old fat cock-sucking queer!"
Everyone gasped with shock. Mr. Fromm went white, then red.
"Rebecca White!" he gasped. "You dare say such filthy obscenities to me!"
Becky remained quiet, showing neither fear nor shame.
(you deserved it, you fat fuck!)
"Is there anything else you'd like to add, Becky?" he asked. "'Cause if you do, perhaps you'd like to tell Mr. Morton."
Becky ignored him because she was looking at the coffee cup on Mr. Fromm's desk; she could taste the coffee, warm it was:
(push, push...)
"Well, if that is all, then I'm going to warn you if I hear such obscene things from you again, you can tell them to Mr. Morton," Mr. Fromm said.
The coffee cup on Mr. Fromm's desk began to tremble and steamed quietly. Now, the cup began to boil and steam as if the cup were on a burner. Becky could taste the heat in the coffee; bubbles in her blood and steam on her forehead.
(push, becky, push...burn that bastard's fuckin tongue off...)
Soon as Mr. Fromm reached for his coffee cup to drink it, his eyes watered and popped out and turned red, sprayed hot coffee all over and his tongue lolled out, screaming in pain that one would only hear in the pit of a torture chamber in the Medieval times. Becky smiled, seeing that his tongue was a coral red and two times bigger than before.
(good good good...)
After class, Carrie and Becky walked towards their lockers. "Carrie," said Becky. "Are you going to the prom?"
"We can't, Beck. Momma would say no."
"So what? We could just say that I'm going with you."
Carrie laughed.
"Still it would be a problem because there's gonna be boys there."
"So what about boys? The girls are going too..."
Carrie stopped in her tracks; her eyes wide with shock.
"What?" she said.
"Look," said Carrie, pointing.
On the girls' lockers were in large red letters: CARRIE AND BECKY WHITE SUCK DICK
Neither of the girls said anything when they saw the graffiti.
Her body temperature jumped to a hundred. She could hear Chris's voice in her head, laughing and she could see her face and her stupid bitch friends burning in a red fiery image, laughing and pointing. The room became sweltering hot...Becky slowly turned around, seeing Chris and her dumb friends, only a few paces way, laughing and pointing.
(like fire? like playing with it...NO! No fire! I swore! back off! back off...)
Becky walked slowly towards Chris, smiling a false smile. "Hello, Chris Ho-Gensen," she said, cheerfully, but the room was getting hotter. "I got your wonderful message that you left me."
"Oh, you did, freak?" said Chris, sarcastically.
"You know, since you left me such a nice message, isn't it custom to return the message to the messenger? Well, I'm returning it, and this is it."
There was a fast swipe that came across Chris's face, next a crack coming from inside. Chris screamed and fell to her knees; she was bleeding at the mouth. Then, she spat out a tooth. She saw the tooth and charged at Becky. She struck Becky hard, catching her ear; her ear began to bleed.
"Oh!" Becky said, sarcastically. "You wanna play rough, do you?" The room got hotter than before. "Well, I'll be glad to play that way."
She sprang onto Chris like an angry tiger and both of them landed on the floor with a thud. They scratched, punched, and pulled hair. Becky dug her fingernails in Chris's face, hoping to draw blood.
"Bitch fight," screeched Norma, excitedly.
"Fight, fight, fight..." chanted the boys. Soon the chanting spread and the entire student body formed a ring around the two angry girls who held up their angry fists.
Chris sprung forward, pinned Becky down and punched her face with heavy blows. Her hot face began to sweat and twinge with pain, and blood trickled down her nose. She spied Chris's dangly silver earrings that jingled as she punched...
(metal and heat...)
Becky grabbed Chris's earrings with her fingers. She shrieked loudly and her earlobes turned tomato red.
"YOU BURNED ME!!" Chris screamed. "YOU BITCH!"
She seized Becky's thin throat and began to choke her. Becky gagged and struggled to push her off. Becky seized a handful of Chris's beautiful hair and pulled with a death grip, ripping out a fistful of it.
"AIEEEEE!!" Chris screamed. "You FUCK!" She seized a handful of Becky's hair with two fists.
"All right, all right, ladies," said Miss Collins. "Break it up. Break it up."
"She started it!" Chris pointed accusingly at her with a red fingernail.
"I did not!" Becky said. "You did, bitch! You vandalized our lockers!"
"Come with me, ladies to the office."
As they walked out of the office, Chris stared angrily at Becky and she stared back with hate as well. Both were bruised, bloody, and hair was scattered and faces scratched.
"Psycho-bitch!" she whispered.
"Dirty pussy cunt!" she whispered back. "And if I had killed you, I would've written my name in your blood."
She would have detention after school.
From The Shadow Exploded (p. 23)
Becky sat in her detention. She heard Miss Collins's voice in the back of her head, calling the girls from Period One gym class by name, in alphabetical order, last name.
"Line up, girls," she said. "Right now. On your feet right now! Katie, Alice, face front! You too, Chris."
Chris turned around from Norma and Jessica, chewing gum.
"And spit out that gum," said Miss Collins.
"Where should I put it, Miss Collins?" she said, smiling sugar sweetly, putting on her innocent angel actress face.
"You can choke on it for all I care," she replied nastily, getting in her face. "Just get it out of your mouth."
Chris took a piece of paper and put her gum on it. Collins paced back and forth in front of the girls. Norma Watson was smiling almost ready to burst into laughter.
"Wipe that smirk off your face, Norma," she said, sharply and she did it obediently, looking down ashamed.
Collins had not been able to get the image of Carrie out of her mind yesterday, Carrie screaming, blubbering, a wet napkin plastered squarely in the middle of her pubic hair. And Becky, oh, Becky and her fight with Chris! Red faced, angry, sweating, Becky...eyes wide open and glittering, nostrils flared, teeth clenched, pearly saliva dripping like a mad dog, jugular vein flicking in her temple—and her own sick, angry reaction.
The other girls sucked in their breath and winced and stared at the floor. It was getting out of hand.
"Now, I want you to know that you did a really shitty thing yesterday and today," she began. "A really shitty thing."
Chris Hargensen sneered at the floor. The rest of the girls were looking miserably at anything but their gym instructor, for none of them heard a teacher call anything shitty. Helen let out a loud giggle.
"Did any of you stop to think that Carrie or Becky White had feelings? Did any of you ever stop to think?"
No reply from the girls.
"No, I guess not. You're thinking about your dates and the prom, right? So, I guess you can take your pick, Chris. Who's the lucky guy?"
"Billy Nolan," Chris Hargensen said, smiling.
"What? I'm sorry. I didn't hear you."
"Billy Nolan," she said a bit louder.
"Louder."
"Billy Nolan." Her voice was irritated.
""Well, isn't he the lucky one," Miss Collins remarked. She turned to Sue. "And how about you, Sue? Who's taking you?"
Sue's face looked guilty. "Tommy Ross," she said quietly. A sear of guilt quaked inside.
Collins put her hands on her hips. "My idea of punishment for this little trick you pulled was three days suspension and refusal of your prom tickets."
Several of the girls looked at each other and mumbled unhappily.
"What?" exclaimed Norma and Chris, looking at each other with shock.
"That would've hit you where you live," Collins continued. "But, the office has decided one week's detention."
Spontaneous sighs came out.
"But, there's a catch. It's going to be my detention." The girls looked shocked and groaned. "Everyday, after school, on the field."
"I'm not coming," said Chris, lips thinned across her teeth.
"That's up to you, Chris. That's up to all of you. Punishment for skipping detention is going to be three days' suspension and refusal of your prom tickets. Clear?"
Nobody said anything.
"Right. Change up. And think about what I said."
She left.
"I'm not coming!" said Chris.
"Are you sure? I don't want to miss out on the prom," said Norma.
"Oh, come on girls, you're..." but no one would listen to her. "Oh...fuck!"
As the weeks went by, Miss Collins did indeed run those girls ragged. Becky smiled, satisfied with the punishment they were getting. While they were running in place, Miss Collins shouted, "One-two-one-two-one-two. Stretch! One-two-one-two. Bend! One-two-one-two."
A few hours later, she said, having the girls run in place. "Lift those knees up, ladies! One-two-one-two-one-two."
"She can't get away with this!" she whispered to Sue.
"Let it go, Chris," Sue sighed, exasperated.
"Like hell I will," she replied through her gritted teeth.
Chris stopped running and so did the other girls. Collins saw that no one was running in place.
"Detention's not over yet, Hargensen," she said.
"It is for me," Chris replied, exasperated.
"There's still ten minutes left."
"Stick them up your a..."
But just as she was about to finish her sentence, Miss Collins marched up to Chris and slapped her hard across the face; the slap made a sound like a whip cracking. Chris shrieked and a red handprint slowly began to appear on her face. The girls let out gasps of shock when they heard the loud crack of her hand swiping across Chris's smooth cheek.
"You can't hit us!" she screamed, tears pricking her eye, mascara running. "I'll see you'll get canned for this! See if you don't, you bitch!"
"One more word out of you and I'll hurl you onto the ground!" said Collins, grabbing her by the collar.
She yanked away from Collin's grip and turned to the girls and said, "She can't get away with this! If we all stick together we can...Norma?"
Norma shook her head 'no'.
"Helen?" she asked.
Helen shook her head 'no' also.
"Sue?" she said, desperately.
"Shut up, Chris," said Sue. "Just shut up."
"This isn't over," Chris screamed at Collins. "This isn't over by a long shot." She walked off the field, sobbing and her cheek throbbing.
"You're out of the prom, Hargensen!" Miss Collins called. To the girls, "Well, show's over. In place...one-two-one-two..."
Her voice faded out.
From The Flame Exploded (p. 32)
After detention, Becky walked home, all alone. Why would Chris think that she burned her? It was an impossibility to burn someone just by touching someone's earrings. Maybe she was mistaken and thought that she pulled them. She smiled, happy that she had knocked a tooth out of Chris' beautiful mouth.
"Hey, kid!" a voice whispered from an alley. "Want some coke?"
"Show yourself," she demanded.
The man stepped out of the alley. He was an ugly man of thirty with an unshaven face, dirty tattered clothes, snotty drippy red nose, and he was scratching his head and his arms, which were red, he was a junkie.
"I'll give you a bag for a dollar," he said, smiling a rotten, toothless grin; his gums were black and he drooled when he spoke.
"I don't have a dollar," said Becky.
"How 'bout a dime?"
She searched her sweater pocket and discovered she did have a dime.
"Hand it over."
She paid him the dime and took the bag from his dirty hand. She took a pinch of cocaine and sniffed it hard.
"Wow!" he said. "You sure do look desperate. Something bad happen today at school?"
"Yea. This snobby bitch vandalized on my locker. She wrote 'suck dick' on it. So, I beat the shit out of her."
"What was her name?"
"Hargensen. Chris Hargensen."
"I know her father."
"Do you?"
"Yes...he got my ass in jail for drug possession."
"Regular ol' fucker, huh?"
"Sure is. Spent two years in jail 'cause I sold coke to some little kids. Silk assed son of a bitch. But, I'm glad you beat her up. She probably deserved it. She's probably exactly like her daddy."
Becky laughed and sniffed her cocaine again. Her head was now beginning to spin and her heart rate was fluttering and her cheeks flushed.
"Say," he said. "How old are you, kid?"
"Why?"
"How 'bout I fuck you for a quarter? Or maybe blow me for nothing?"
"Why not? I've always wanted a ride all the way to China." Becky laughed.
"Well, maybe later..." he said, his smile faded.
"Why not now?"
"Uh..."
"I know why! You think I'm too young, right?"
The dealer said nothing. She sniffed some more cocaine and didn't say anything for a while. She sniffed a few more times. Now, she was sweating, head spinning faster, blood was hot, and her nose was red and snotty. Becky sniffed again.
"What's your name, kid?"
"Becky White."
"Becky White? Carrie White's little sis?" He laughed. "Ol' prayin' Becky!"
Becky's hand sprang forward and grabbed the dealer's testicles, digging her little pointy daggers into the soft tissue; his face twisted into a grimace of pain.
"Don't ever," Becky said angrily; it started to get hot, "call me 'prayin' Becky' 'cause I don't pray. Understand? Give me a fuckin' sign that you understand, you crazy fuck. 'Cause if you don't, I'll set your fuckin' balls on fire."
"I'm sorry," the dealer squeaked loudly. "I didn't mean to!"
Becky let go of his balls; the dealer leaned forward and groaned, cupping his sore balls. Becky continued to sniff the bag.
"Hey, hey! Take it easy, he squeaked. "You'll kill yourself, kid."
"That's the whole point," Becky replied, super drugged. "You don't know what my life is like. You don't live a theomaniac mother who thinks she's God or Jesus...or I dunno, the Virgin Mary." She laughed a drugged laugh. "She thinks everything around is a sin. When you see me, you think to yourself, 'Oh, poor, pathetic praying Becky White. She can't do anything 'cause everything is a sin. Can't even fuck a man 'till she's wed 'cause it's a fuckin sin.'"
Suddenly, Becky felt really sick. Her head was spinning, hands shaking madly, her blood pressure was sky high, her heart beat faster than a hummingbird's wings on soda pop, her nose ran with snot and was red, her black eyes were watery, and her stomach was sick. Her stomach declared mutiny and she threw up on the sidewalk.
"I told you, kid," the dealer said. "That you were gonna make yourself sick."
"Blow yourself," she said, sickly. She puked again. "Well, thanks for the coke. I'll back for more." She handed the bag back to the dealer and shuffled home sickly. "And I'll be back for the fucking too."
As she walked home, all of Carlin Street spun fast, the voices inside and out her head echoed loudly, giving her a headache, her eyes were wet, and the colors of the environment became blurry. She was sweating and clutching her sick stomach and staggered home. Once she reached the steps of her house, she collapsed on the steps, sick and high. Momma opened the door.
"Where have you been, Rebecca?" she demanded.
"I was talking to God," she replied, so drugged and sick. "I told him not to let you into heaven because of your stupid fanatic shit and He told me that you need to come back to fuckin' reality."
"You are indeed a wicked, wicked child! Go to the closet and pray."
She puked in the bushes. "You're making me sick and you're giving me a fucking headache."
Momma grabbed Becky by the shoulders, digging her nails into her shoulder. She delivered blows to her face.
"Wicked, evil, spawn of Satan," she said; she delivered each blow with each syllable. "Jezebel, Herodias, Salome!"
Becky looked at Momma with her angry black eyes glittering. "I may be all of those women that you called me," she said angrily. "But, I know what you did..." She paused for a minute to catch her breath and then said, "You SLUT!" the spit sprayed in Momma's face.
Momma's eyes turned round with shock. "You dare say such things to me, Rebecca White!"
"I know what you did! Before you were married, you spread your skimpy legs and fucked Daddy."
"Rebecca, stop it! That's not true!"
"Don't you lie to me, Momma! You know it and I know it. Every night, Daddy's bed, Daddy's bed, Daddy's bed, squeak, squeak, squeak, fucking him, with Daddy rollin' on top of you, sinless Momma...fucking, fucking, fucking..."
"Shut up! SHUT UP!" Momma screamed, covering her ears.
"YOU FUCKIN SHUT UP, YOU SLUT!" she slapped Momma hard across the face. She shrieked from the slap. The room was now 104 degrees. The water in the sink boiled.
(like fire, Momma? like hot, beautiful, orange yellow fire? beautiful when it's small but deadly when big)
The room was now 110 degrees that the milk was hot and boiling, the butter was a yellow boiling puddle, and there was a slight smell of smoke from the floorboards.
Becky screamed a high-pitched scream and began to destroy everything in her path. She threw books, knocked over tables and chairs, smashed glass figurines and the crucifix that hung on the wall, threw pictures of Jesus and the Virgin Mary, etc. Her blood was hot, her body temperature was 105.2 degrees, her eyes glittered madly and pearls of saliva dribbled from her mouth, her hands tightened into fists, her hair floated and sweat dripped.
Momma began to scream the Exorcism prayer over Becky's screams.
Carrie ran down the stairs and saw her mad sister, screaming, the room was hotter than ever. She knew that when Becky was this mad, she could start a fire.
"Beck, no!" said Carrie. "Stop! Calm down."
"Stay away from her, Carrie," said Momma, grabbing her wrist. "She's mad. Satan has taken over her. Pray with me to exorcise her."
(like fire, Momma? i'll show you some pretty fire...fire is beautiful when small, but deadly when big. Push, push...PU-)
Carrie broke free of Momma's hand and ran to her sister who was screaming madly, then with all her strength, she slapped her hard across the face. The hand was smooth, yet strong.
"Becky, calm down. Please!" she said. "Don't do it! Don't light!"
Cupping her sore face, slowly, she began to calm down and was panting with exhaustion. The room dropped to normal room temperature and her bodily functions dropped to normal, yet her nerves and brain were screaming with pain. She trembled and dropped to her knees and broke out into tears.
"I'm sorry, Carrie," she begged, quietly.
"Shhh," said Carrie, holding trembling Becky.
"Round we go," Becky sang quietly, sobbing, her voice equivalent to a five year old child. "The world is spinning. When it stops, it's just beginning..."
Then, Momma grabbed Becky's shoulder, flinging her across the room.
"Nothing will spare you from sound strapping, Rebecca White," she said.
"No! Not a strapping!" Becky begged. "Please, Momma!"
Momma tore off her shirt and Becky kneeled on the ground like a wounded beast, naked and shivering. Now her bra was torn off, revealing tiny breasts with tight pink nipples. Roughly grabbing Becky by the hair, laid her stomach down and bound her hands to the legs of the table, her pale back exposed. Momma took out a leather belt from her room: thick, black, ugly and snake like.
"Momma don't!" said Carrie, running to stop her.
Momma grabbed Carrie, pushed her and locked her in the closet. Carrie pounded on the door, screaming.
"'And Pilate handed Jesus over to be scourged...'" Momma said.
She raised the leather belt and it came with a loud leather slap, burning Becky's skin. Becky willed herself not to scream, but the pain was so great that she could only cry and the scream was stuck in her throat.
The lashes came down horrible and merciless. One, two, three, four, Becky's tears burned.
Five, six, seven, eight, the blood in her back grew hot.
Nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen...
(god have mercy on me!)
Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two...
(o god o god!)
Twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty- eight...
(will you ever stop?)
Twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five...
(PUSH!)
That's when she felt the belt get hotter as it drew closer to thirty- nine. Once there, the belt began to smoke like a hot gun that had been shot.
"Get to your closet and pray, you wicked girl!"
She threw Becky in there with Carrie, naked, bloody, and miserable. Her eyes were sore and red with tears from crying; her muscles were sore from the beating and her wrists burned from the bindings, her voice hoarse and sore from screaming.
She barely had the strength to pray...Becky had stopped praying on the day that she and Carrie were first laughed at. God, to her, was vengeful, angry, and merciless. She couldn't pray to Mary...Mary, the sweet, merciful Mother of Jesus. She had turned away from her
(I will have my revenge! revenge with heat and flame)
Becky lay on the hard wooden floor, Jesus on the cross staring at her, giving her a sense of paranoia. The room got darker...
After the six hours in the closet, Carrie soothed Becky's welts with cool cloths. She could feel her hands trembling as she looked upon the welts: swollen, red, and ugly.
"Oh, Becky, why did you do that?" Carrie said, near weeping.
"I couldn't help it," she sniffled, quietly. She hissed in pain as another cool cloth was placed upon her sore back.
"Is everything you said about Momma and Daddy true? How do you know?"
"It is and I just do."
Becky closed her wet red eyes, slipping into the darkness of her unconsciousness, still feeling Carrie's trembling fingers soothing her sore welts, which seemed to fade out of her mind... It wasn't until hours later she saw and heard something in that darkness...
There were the sounds of high-pitched screams, glass shattering, water spraying, and electricity buzzing in the dark. There was the smell of smoke, burnt flesh, and a coppery smell of blood. And oh! Heat! There was heat that made Becky sweat. Hot enough to melt a tattoo, hotter than a volcano. Fire!
Becky woke up, still sweaty and shaky. The voices were gone, the smell of fire, blood, and burnt flesh was gone, and so were the voices. But one question remained...what was that she had seen in the dark?
From The Flame Ignited (p. 24)
In English class, Becky sat just across from Carrie in the back. She listened as Mr. Fromm read Tommy Ross's poem; there were sounds of paper being thrown and the scratches of Carrie's pencil as she wrote down the poem. Mr. Fromm was a fat, old English teacher wearing a pair of glasses. Becky hated the bastard because he always made fun of her or Carrie. She didn't give a shit if he made fun of her, but it just crossed the line when he poked fun at Carrie.
Becky felt tired from the push last night that the words Mr. Fromm read hummed in her ears like insects as he read a poem by Tommy Ross.
"Well, Tommy," he said. "This is fairly an impressive poem." To the class, "Well, class, any criticism?"
No one said a word.
"Anyone?"
"It's beautiful," Carrie said quietly.
"Carrie White!" said Mr. Fromm. "Beautiful? Beautiful!" The voice was high and mocking. The students laughed. "'O beautiful, spacious skies with fields of amber waves of grain...'" he said mockingly. "Is that the beautiful you mean, Carrie?"
Everyone laughed. Carrie said nothing.
"Fuck you," Becky whispered quietly, through her teeth.
"I'm sorry, Becky White," said Mr. Fromm, seeing Becky's lips move. "But did you say something?"
"Did I?" Becky said, feigning innocence.
"You did. What did you say?"
"I said," Becky said; the hate and anger boiled inside, matching the room temperature. "Fuck you, you old fat cock-sucking queer!"
Everyone gasped with shock. Mr. Fromm went white, then red.
"Rebecca White!" he gasped. "You dare say such filthy obscenities to me!"
Becky remained quiet, showing neither fear nor shame.
(you deserved it, you fat fuck!)
"Is there anything else you'd like to add, Becky?" he asked. "'Cause if you do, perhaps you'd like to tell Mr. Morton."
Becky ignored him because she was looking at the coffee cup on Mr. Fromm's desk; she could taste the coffee, warm it was:
(push, push...)
"Well, if that is all, then I'm going to warn you if I hear such obscene things from you again, you can tell them to Mr. Morton," Mr. Fromm said.
The coffee cup on Mr. Fromm's desk began to tremble and steamed quietly. Now, the cup began to boil and steam as if the cup were on a burner. Becky could taste the heat in the coffee; bubbles in her blood and steam on her forehead.
(push, becky, push...burn that bastard's fuckin tongue off...)
Soon as Mr. Fromm reached for his coffee cup to drink it, his eyes watered and popped out and turned red, sprayed hot coffee all over and his tongue lolled out, screaming in pain that one would only hear in the pit of a torture chamber in the Medieval times. Becky smiled, seeing that his tongue was a coral red and two times bigger than before.
(good good good...)
After class, Carrie and Becky walked towards their lockers. "Carrie," said Becky. "Are you going to the prom?"
"We can't, Beck. Momma would say no."
"So what? We could just say that I'm going with you."
Carrie laughed.
"Still it would be a problem because there's gonna be boys there."
"So what about boys? The girls are going too..."
Carrie stopped in her tracks; her eyes wide with shock.
"What?" she said.
"Look," said Carrie, pointing.
On the girls' lockers were in large red letters: CARRIE AND BECKY WHITE SUCK DICK
Neither of the girls said anything when they saw the graffiti.
Her body temperature jumped to a hundred. She could hear Chris's voice in her head, laughing and she could see her face and her stupid bitch friends burning in a red fiery image, laughing and pointing. The room became sweltering hot...Becky slowly turned around, seeing Chris and her dumb friends, only a few paces way, laughing and pointing.
(like fire? like playing with it...NO! No fire! I swore! back off! back off...)
Becky walked slowly towards Chris, smiling a false smile. "Hello, Chris Ho-Gensen," she said, cheerfully, but the room was getting hotter. "I got your wonderful message that you left me."
"Oh, you did, freak?" said Chris, sarcastically.
"You know, since you left me such a nice message, isn't it custom to return the message to the messenger? Well, I'm returning it, and this is it."
There was a fast swipe that came across Chris's face, next a crack coming from inside. Chris screamed and fell to her knees; she was bleeding at the mouth. Then, she spat out a tooth. She saw the tooth and charged at Becky. She struck Becky hard, catching her ear; her ear began to bleed.
"Oh!" Becky said, sarcastically. "You wanna play rough, do you?" The room got hotter than before. "Well, I'll be glad to play that way."
She sprang onto Chris like an angry tiger and both of them landed on the floor with a thud. They scratched, punched, and pulled hair. Becky dug her fingernails in Chris's face, hoping to draw blood.
"Bitch fight," screeched Norma, excitedly.
"Fight, fight, fight..." chanted the boys. Soon the chanting spread and the entire student body formed a ring around the two angry girls who held up their angry fists.
Chris sprung forward, pinned Becky down and punched her face with heavy blows. Her hot face began to sweat and twinge with pain, and blood trickled down her nose. She spied Chris's dangly silver earrings that jingled as she punched...
(metal and heat...)
Becky grabbed Chris's earrings with her fingers. She shrieked loudly and her earlobes turned tomato red.
"YOU BURNED ME!!" Chris screamed. "YOU BITCH!"
She seized Becky's thin throat and began to choke her. Becky gagged and struggled to push her off. Becky seized a handful of Chris's beautiful hair and pulled with a death grip, ripping out a fistful of it.
"AIEEEEE!!" Chris screamed. "You FUCK!" She seized a handful of Becky's hair with two fists.
"All right, all right, ladies," said Miss Collins. "Break it up. Break it up."
"She started it!" Chris pointed accusingly at her with a red fingernail.
"I did not!" Becky said. "You did, bitch! You vandalized our lockers!"
"Come with me, ladies to the office."
As they walked out of the office, Chris stared angrily at Becky and she stared back with hate as well. Both were bruised, bloody, and hair was scattered and faces scratched.
"Psycho-bitch!" she whispered.
"Dirty pussy cunt!" she whispered back. "And if I had killed you, I would've written my name in your blood."
She would have detention after school.
From The Shadow Exploded (p. 23)
Becky sat in her detention. She heard Miss Collins's voice in the back of her head, calling the girls from Period One gym class by name, in alphabetical order, last name.
"Line up, girls," she said. "Right now. On your feet right now! Katie, Alice, face front! You too, Chris."
Chris turned around from Norma and Jessica, chewing gum.
"And spit out that gum," said Miss Collins.
"Where should I put it, Miss Collins?" she said, smiling sugar sweetly, putting on her innocent angel actress face.
"You can choke on it for all I care," she replied nastily, getting in her face. "Just get it out of your mouth."
Chris took a piece of paper and put her gum on it. Collins paced back and forth in front of the girls. Norma Watson was smiling almost ready to burst into laughter.
"Wipe that smirk off your face, Norma," she said, sharply and she did it obediently, looking down ashamed.
Collins had not been able to get the image of Carrie out of her mind yesterday, Carrie screaming, blubbering, a wet napkin plastered squarely in the middle of her pubic hair. And Becky, oh, Becky and her fight with Chris! Red faced, angry, sweating, Becky...eyes wide open and glittering, nostrils flared, teeth clenched, pearly saliva dripping like a mad dog, jugular vein flicking in her temple—and her own sick, angry reaction.
The other girls sucked in their breath and winced and stared at the floor. It was getting out of hand.
"Now, I want you to know that you did a really shitty thing yesterday and today," she began. "A really shitty thing."
Chris Hargensen sneered at the floor. The rest of the girls were looking miserably at anything but their gym instructor, for none of them heard a teacher call anything shitty. Helen let out a loud giggle.
"Did any of you stop to think that Carrie or Becky White had feelings? Did any of you ever stop to think?"
No reply from the girls.
"No, I guess not. You're thinking about your dates and the prom, right? So, I guess you can take your pick, Chris. Who's the lucky guy?"
"Billy Nolan," Chris Hargensen said, smiling.
"What? I'm sorry. I didn't hear you."
"Billy Nolan," she said a bit louder.
"Louder."
"Billy Nolan." Her voice was irritated.
""Well, isn't he the lucky one," Miss Collins remarked. She turned to Sue. "And how about you, Sue? Who's taking you?"
Sue's face looked guilty. "Tommy Ross," she said quietly. A sear of guilt quaked inside.
Collins put her hands on her hips. "My idea of punishment for this little trick you pulled was three days suspension and refusal of your prom tickets."
Several of the girls looked at each other and mumbled unhappily.
"What?" exclaimed Norma and Chris, looking at each other with shock.
"That would've hit you where you live," Collins continued. "But, the office has decided one week's detention."
Spontaneous sighs came out.
"But, there's a catch. It's going to be my detention." The girls looked shocked and groaned. "Everyday, after school, on the field."
"I'm not coming," said Chris, lips thinned across her teeth.
"That's up to you, Chris. That's up to all of you. Punishment for skipping detention is going to be three days' suspension and refusal of your prom tickets. Clear?"
Nobody said anything.
"Right. Change up. And think about what I said."
She left.
"I'm not coming!" said Chris.
"Are you sure? I don't want to miss out on the prom," said Norma.
"Oh, come on girls, you're..." but no one would listen to her. "Oh...fuck!"
As the weeks went by, Miss Collins did indeed run those girls ragged. Becky smiled, satisfied with the punishment they were getting. While they were running in place, Miss Collins shouted, "One-two-one-two-one-two. Stretch! One-two-one-two. Bend! One-two-one-two."
A few hours later, she said, having the girls run in place. "Lift those knees up, ladies! One-two-one-two-one-two."
"She can't get away with this!" she whispered to Sue.
"Let it go, Chris," Sue sighed, exasperated.
"Like hell I will," she replied through her gritted teeth.
Chris stopped running and so did the other girls. Collins saw that no one was running in place.
"Detention's not over yet, Hargensen," she said.
"It is for me," Chris replied, exasperated.
"There's still ten minutes left."
"Stick them up your a..."
But just as she was about to finish her sentence, Miss Collins marched up to Chris and slapped her hard across the face; the slap made a sound like a whip cracking. Chris shrieked and a red handprint slowly began to appear on her face. The girls let out gasps of shock when they heard the loud crack of her hand swiping across Chris's smooth cheek.
"You can't hit us!" she screamed, tears pricking her eye, mascara running. "I'll see you'll get canned for this! See if you don't, you bitch!"
"One more word out of you and I'll hurl you onto the ground!" said Collins, grabbing her by the collar.
She yanked away from Collin's grip and turned to the girls and said, "She can't get away with this! If we all stick together we can...Norma?"
Norma shook her head 'no'.
"Helen?" she asked.
Helen shook her head 'no' also.
"Sue?" she said, desperately.
"Shut up, Chris," said Sue. "Just shut up."
"This isn't over," Chris screamed at Collins. "This isn't over by a long shot." She walked off the field, sobbing and her cheek throbbing.
"You're out of the prom, Hargensen!" Miss Collins called. To the girls, "Well, show's over. In place...one-two-one-two..."
Her voice faded out.
From The Flame Exploded (p. 32)
After detention, Becky walked home, all alone. Why would Chris think that she burned her? It was an impossibility to burn someone just by touching someone's earrings. Maybe she was mistaken and thought that she pulled them. She smiled, happy that she had knocked a tooth out of Chris' beautiful mouth.
"Hey, kid!" a voice whispered from an alley. "Want some coke?"
"Show yourself," she demanded.
The man stepped out of the alley. He was an ugly man of thirty with an unshaven face, dirty tattered clothes, snotty drippy red nose, and he was scratching his head and his arms, which were red, he was a junkie.
"I'll give you a bag for a dollar," he said, smiling a rotten, toothless grin; his gums were black and he drooled when he spoke.
"I don't have a dollar," said Becky.
"How 'bout a dime?"
She searched her sweater pocket and discovered she did have a dime.
"Hand it over."
She paid him the dime and took the bag from his dirty hand. She took a pinch of cocaine and sniffed it hard.
"Wow!" he said. "You sure do look desperate. Something bad happen today at school?"
"Yea. This snobby bitch vandalized on my locker. She wrote 'suck dick' on it. So, I beat the shit out of her."
"What was her name?"
"Hargensen. Chris Hargensen."
"I know her father."
"Do you?"
"Yes...he got my ass in jail for drug possession."
"Regular ol' fucker, huh?"
"Sure is. Spent two years in jail 'cause I sold coke to some little kids. Silk assed son of a bitch. But, I'm glad you beat her up. She probably deserved it. She's probably exactly like her daddy."
Becky laughed and sniffed her cocaine again. Her head was now beginning to spin and her heart rate was fluttering and her cheeks flushed.
"Say," he said. "How old are you, kid?"
"Why?"
"How 'bout I fuck you for a quarter? Or maybe blow me for nothing?"
"Why not? I've always wanted a ride all the way to China." Becky laughed.
"Well, maybe later..." he said, his smile faded.
"Why not now?"
"Uh..."
"I know why! You think I'm too young, right?"
The dealer said nothing. She sniffed some more cocaine and didn't say anything for a while. She sniffed a few more times. Now, she was sweating, head spinning faster, blood was hot, and her nose was red and snotty. Becky sniffed again.
"What's your name, kid?"
"Becky White."
"Becky White? Carrie White's little sis?" He laughed. "Ol' prayin' Becky!"
Becky's hand sprang forward and grabbed the dealer's testicles, digging her little pointy daggers into the soft tissue; his face twisted into a grimace of pain.
"Don't ever," Becky said angrily; it started to get hot, "call me 'prayin' Becky' 'cause I don't pray. Understand? Give me a fuckin' sign that you understand, you crazy fuck. 'Cause if you don't, I'll set your fuckin' balls on fire."
"I'm sorry," the dealer squeaked loudly. "I didn't mean to!"
Becky let go of his balls; the dealer leaned forward and groaned, cupping his sore balls. Becky continued to sniff the bag.
"Hey, hey! Take it easy, he squeaked. "You'll kill yourself, kid."
"That's the whole point," Becky replied, super drugged. "You don't know what my life is like. You don't live a theomaniac mother who thinks she's God or Jesus...or I dunno, the Virgin Mary." She laughed a drugged laugh. "She thinks everything around is a sin. When you see me, you think to yourself, 'Oh, poor, pathetic praying Becky White. She can't do anything 'cause everything is a sin. Can't even fuck a man 'till she's wed 'cause it's a fuckin sin.'"
Suddenly, Becky felt really sick. Her head was spinning, hands shaking madly, her blood pressure was sky high, her heart beat faster than a hummingbird's wings on soda pop, her nose ran with snot and was red, her black eyes were watery, and her stomach was sick. Her stomach declared mutiny and she threw up on the sidewalk.
"I told you, kid," the dealer said. "That you were gonna make yourself sick."
"Blow yourself," she said, sickly. She puked again. "Well, thanks for the coke. I'll back for more." She handed the bag back to the dealer and shuffled home sickly. "And I'll be back for the fucking too."
As she walked home, all of Carlin Street spun fast, the voices inside and out her head echoed loudly, giving her a headache, her eyes were wet, and the colors of the environment became blurry. She was sweating and clutching her sick stomach and staggered home. Once she reached the steps of her house, she collapsed on the steps, sick and high. Momma opened the door.
"Where have you been, Rebecca?" she demanded.
"I was talking to God," she replied, so drugged and sick. "I told him not to let you into heaven because of your stupid fanatic shit and He told me that you need to come back to fuckin' reality."
"You are indeed a wicked, wicked child! Go to the closet and pray."
She puked in the bushes. "You're making me sick and you're giving me a fucking headache."
Momma grabbed Becky by the shoulders, digging her nails into her shoulder. She delivered blows to her face.
"Wicked, evil, spawn of Satan," she said; she delivered each blow with each syllable. "Jezebel, Herodias, Salome!"
Becky looked at Momma with her angry black eyes glittering. "I may be all of those women that you called me," she said angrily. "But, I know what you did..." She paused for a minute to catch her breath and then said, "You SLUT!" the spit sprayed in Momma's face.
Momma's eyes turned round with shock. "You dare say such things to me, Rebecca White!"
"I know what you did! Before you were married, you spread your skimpy legs and fucked Daddy."
"Rebecca, stop it! That's not true!"
"Don't you lie to me, Momma! You know it and I know it. Every night, Daddy's bed, Daddy's bed, Daddy's bed, squeak, squeak, squeak, fucking him, with Daddy rollin' on top of you, sinless Momma...fucking, fucking, fucking..."
"Shut up! SHUT UP!" Momma screamed, covering her ears.
"YOU FUCKIN SHUT UP, YOU SLUT!" she slapped Momma hard across the face. She shrieked from the slap. The room was now 104 degrees. The water in the sink boiled.
(like fire, Momma? like hot, beautiful, orange yellow fire? beautiful when it's small but deadly when big)
The room was now 110 degrees that the milk was hot and boiling, the butter was a yellow boiling puddle, and there was a slight smell of smoke from the floorboards.
Becky screamed a high-pitched scream and began to destroy everything in her path. She threw books, knocked over tables and chairs, smashed glass figurines and the crucifix that hung on the wall, threw pictures of Jesus and the Virgin Mary, etc. Her blood was hot, her body temperature was 105.2 degrees, her eyes glittered madly and pearls of saliva dribbled from her mouth, her hands tightened into fists, her hair floated and sweat dripped.
Momma began to scream the Exorcism prayer over Becky's screams.
Carrie ran down the stairs and saw her mad sister, screaming, the room was hotter than ever. She knew that when Becky was this mad, she could start a fire.
"Beck, no!" said Carrie. "Stop! Calm down."
"Stay away from her, Carrie," said Momma, grabbing her wrist. "She's mad. Satan has taken over her. Pray with me to exorcise her."
(like fire, Momma? i'll show you some pretty fire...fire is beautiful when small, but deadly when big. Push, push...PU-)
Carrie broke free of Momma's hand and ran to her sister who was screaming madly, then with all her strength, she slapped her hard across the face. The hand was smooth, yet strong.
"Becky, calm down. Please!" she said. "Don't do it! Don't light!"
Cupping her sore face, slowly, she began to calm down and was panting with exhaustion. The room dropped to normal room temperature and her bodily functions dropped to normal, yet her nerves and brain were screaming with pain. She trembled and dropped to her knees and broke out into tears.
"I'm sorry, Carrie," she begged, quietly.
"Shhh," said Carrie, holding trembling Becky.
"Round we go," Becky sang quietly, sobbing, her voice equivalent to a five year old child. "The world is spinning. When it stops, it's just beginning..."
Then, Momma grabbed Becky's shoulder, flinging her across the room.
"Nothing will spare you from sound strapping, Rebecca White," she said.
"No! Not a strapping!" Becky begged. "Please, Momma!"
Momma tore off her shirt and Becky kneeled on the ground like a wounded beast, naked and shivering. Now her bra was torn off, revealing tiny breasts with tight pink nipples. Roughly grabbing Becky by the hair, laid her stomach down and bound her hands to the legs of the table, her pale back exposed. Momma took out a leather belt from her room: thick, black, ugly and snake like.
"Momma don't!" said Carrie, running to stop her.
Momma grabbed Carrie, pushed her and locked her in the closet. Carrie pounded on the door, screaming.
"'And Pilate handed Jesus over to be scourged...'" Momma said.
She raised the leather belt and it came with a loud leather slap, burning Becky's skin. Becky willed herself not to scream, but the pain was so great that she could only cry and the scream was stuck in her throat.
The lashes came down horrible and merciless. One, two, three, four, Becky's tears burned.
Five, six, seven, eight, the blood in her back grew hot.
Nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen...
(god have mercy on me!)
Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two...
(o god o god!)
Twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty- eight...
(will you ever stop?)
Twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five...
(PUSH!)
That's when she felt the belt get hotter as it drew closer to thirty- nine. Once there, the belt began to smoke like a hot gun that had been shot.
"Get to your closet and pray, you wicked girl!"
She threw Becky in there with Carrie, naked, bloody, and miserable. Her eyes were sore and red with tears from crying; her muscles were sore from the beating and her wrists burned from the bindings, her voice hoarse and sore from screaming.
She barely had the strength to pray...Becky had stopped praying on the day that she and Carrie were first laughed at. God, to her, was vengeful, angry, and merciless. She couldn't pray to Mary...Mary, the sweet, merciful Mother of Jesus. She had turned away from her
(I will have my revenge! revenge with heat and flame)
Becky lay on the hard wooden floor, Jesus on the cross staring at her, giving her a sense of paranoia. The room got darker...
After the six hours in the closet, Carrie soothed Becky's welts with cool cloths. She could feel her hands trembling as she looked upon the welts: swollen, red, and ugly.
"Oh, Becky, why did you do that?" Carrie said, near weeping.
"I couldn't help it," she sniffled, quietly. She hissed in pain as another cool cloth was placed upon her sore back.
"Is everything you said about Momma and Daddy true? How do you know?"
"It is and I just do."
Becky closed her wet red eyes, slipping into the darkness of her unconsciousness, still feeling Carrie's trembling fingers soothing her sore welts, which seemed to fade out of her mind... It wasn't until hours later she saw and heard something in that darkness...
There were the sounds of high-pitched screams, glass shattering, water spraying, and electricity buzzing in the dark. There was the smell of smoke, burnt flesh, and a coppery smell of blood. And oh! Heat! There was heat that made Becky sweat. Hot enough to melt a tattoo, hotter than a volcano. Fire!
Becky woke up, still sweaty and shaky. The voices were gone, the smell of fire, blood, and burnt flesh was gone, and so were the voices. But one question remained...what was that she had seen in the dark?