The Craft Chapter 5: Personal Hells

Rochelle loved the quiet & solitude of standing on the high-dive board. Looking below her she saw an azure paradise of rippling blue water; looking straight ahead of her, she saw nothing but "sky." She saw the act of diving as one of purification, baptism. It would not be exaggerating to say that Rochelle regarded the entire act of swimming as not simply a mere "sport" – it was a religious experience, on par with any ritual utilizing chants & candles.

She confidently looked ahead of her at the sky, and then began her graceful descent. Laura Lizzie and those other racist Barbie Dolls were millions of miles away...

"Shark!"

Rochelle's nervous system registered a momentary blip of terror...momentary, but it was all that was needed to throw off her dive and send her splashing into the water flat on her back.

As she fell through the water, the laughter of cruel girls could be still be discerned...

Rochelle let the blue darkness envelop her flushed cheeks and hot skin as a protective barrier. But she knew she couldn't stay there forever.

"Brilliant," Laura mockingly complimented her, clapping her hands as her crony watched in evil glee, "Superb!"

Rochelle angrily avoided the faces of her tormentors as she grabbed her towel & left the pool. She tried to be dignified, but it was hard. Her mother always told her to just "stand tall" and not let people like Laura know that she hurt her. But then she remembered what her grandfather told her...

If you don't stand up to them, they'll never stop.

They'll never stop.

Rochelle initially decided to go along with her mother's approach. She calmly walked into the locker room and pretended like nothing was wrong, ignoring the fact that Laura was preening her long bleached locks only a few feet away.

Laura turned to her friend & gestured at her hairbrush with a frown.

"Oh yuck, it looks like a pubic hair got on my hairbrush...oh wait, it's just one of Rochelle's."

As the muscles in the back of Rochelle's neck tightened & her teeth clenched, she suddenly decided that her grandfather might have been right on the money with this "dealing with prejudiced idiots" business–after all, he personally boycotted the buses in Alabama.

Hmm...she could grab Lizzie by the hair and smack her face into the counter...but such violence was personally beneath her & besides Lizzie's hair was so brittle it'd probably break off anyway.

Rochelle walked right up to Lizzie and looked her in the eyes.

"Why are you doing this to me, Laura?"

Laura's formerly wicked smile of derision suddenly became cold & serious...Rochelle didn't know which expression was the more disturbing.

"Because I don't like Negroids."

Rochelle was too horrified by Laura's statement to even think about challenging the moronic term she used.

Sure, she knew there was some racism in the school. It was subtle...ok, maybe not-so-subtle. After all, the only girls who befriended her there were Nancy & Bonnie. But the racism was unspoken. Until now.

She felt like crying, but it was not something she did.

Bonnie sunk into the baggy black overcoat she wore and tried to lose herself in her own little world. In that world, she could wear T-shirts & halter-tops...maybe even a bathing suit! It was the world where Manon made all the pain go away...

But she guessed that in the real world, doctors were supposed to do that. In theory, anyway.

"I must tell you again, this is a very experimental procedure..."

Bonnie blocked out the droning voice of the doctor & her mother's timid "We understand."

Experimental procedure. That always meant pain. And in the end, she still looked the same. Like a lizard-skinned freak.

A nurse directed Bonnie to the changing-room. As she took off her clothes, she meticulously avoided looking at her body. She was very good at that.

Bonnie placed her head in the depression cut out of the table. The table was probably designed that way so she wouldn't have to see the long Hellraiser needles poised right above her back.

Yeah, her mom's quiet acquiescence to any and all doctors waving a "miracle cure" in front of her face did annoy her sometimes. But Bonnie was really glad she was there in the operating room. She was scared to death. She figured she shouldn't be, since she went through so much of this already...like she should be "used to it" by now. But each procedure was different. Except for one thing...

She felt the needle plunge into the rough, mottled skin of her back.

"Aieeeeeee!!!!!!"

...they all hurt.

The wind pounded upon Sarah's window, incessantly, pleadingly.

It was going to be quite a storm, tonight.

Let the whole world be swallowed up, for all she cared.

No. It wasn't the world's fault. The world was fine. The world was fine, Chris was fine, everybody was fine. The problem was with her. She was pathetic. If she went away, the world would be a better place.

That strange, mean voice spoke to her inside her head again:

"But you already tried that. You already tried going away. But you couldn't even do that right. So terribly, completely pathetic."

Sarah ignored the howling of the storm and the darkness of her room. In her mind's eye, she could see the fluorescent glare of the bathroom of her old house...how the cruel sharpness of the straight razor contrasted with the cozy decorative soaps and potpourri...

...how the blade sunk into the flesh of her arms like butter...she didn't even feel that...it was so unreal...she only knew...that the visions had to stop...the isolation had to stop...it all had to stop...time had to stop...

Was that mean foreign voice dwelling in her brain then? Telling her that she was pathetic? Telling her that she had better just "get on with it"...

...get on with it...her blood-soaked hands shakily grasped the glass of water...get on with it...take these pills...do it right...do it right...

She had lost so much blood that she was unable to maintain her grip on the glass, and it plunged towards the tiled floor and shattered into a thousand pieces...a thousand pieces, amongst the cruel spatter of the blood...her blood...

And then Sarah was back. In this new house. During a storm.

Nancy pulled the black PVC of her jacket up above her head in an attempt to protect her from the storm. Taking public transportation home & then walking 5 blocks from the bus stop in the pouring rain...yep, she thought, sounds about right. For my So-Called White Trash Life. Oh look, here's my trailer now...

She always thought she was better than this life...wasn't she smarter than the other kids in school? Isn't that why she got the scholarship to go to St. Benedict's? Those spoon-fed rich brats couldn't hold a candle to her academically. That's why they all hated her. Well screw them. Screw everybody.

One day the magic will work. I mean, really really work. And all this won't matter. Really.

A drenched, beaten dog nervously skittered out of her way as she passed.

The lights went out as soon as she stepped though the door. Bzzzt.

The shrill of her mother's frantic, drunken voice shot through the house:

"Ah geezus, the lights are off again?! Didn't you pay the bill?"

Several strategically-placed pails & bowls accented the decor of the "family room" (ha!), nearly overflowing with leaked water from the flimsy ceiling.

"It's the storm, Grace, it's the connection, Grace," her step-father said, his big, fat, stinking carcass lying upon the threadbare couch.

I'd like to strategically-place the barrel of a gun against that lecherous bastard's bald head, Nancy thought, gripping a lighted cigarette and making a b-line for her room. She fell onto the bed without even taking off her jacket. Just lying there in the dark, feverishly wiping rainwater off the skin of her face.

"Well, the other neighbors' lights aren't out," her mother continued. "I give you money and you can't even pay a bill? A bill? What are you good for?"

"You know what I'm good for," that horrible scumbucket replied. Great. Now she would probably have to listen to them have sex. Disgusting life.

Nancy kept wiping the water off her face, then rubbed her eyes, then just wanted to erase herself from the whole disgusting scene.

She read in books hat she had the power to manifest her own reality...that she had the power...and she wanted to believe that...but what did she have to show for it? She acted so confidently about the spells & Manon in front of Bonnie & Rochelle...but deep down...she feared...what if she was wrong? What if she was simply delusional, driven half-mad by rejection, abuse, and self-hatred?

What if...

"No! It has to be!"

At that moment, the lights suddenly flew on.