Carrie White hung her head in shame and abject dismay. Her small boobs were exposed for all the world to see — at least, probably, for the other girls in the change room to see. Another key problem of her high school life, which read like the Bible’s Book of Job, was her menstrual cycle, which she had no clue about.

Sue Snell, whose bright personality and spirit made her popular while Carrie slunk in the shadows, still tossed her soap bar from hand to hand. Showering girls, talking amidst themselves excitedly, were unable to decide which piece of lingerie was the most erotic, which had been overused by their mothers, and which should not be worn under any circumstances.

If Sue Snell’s looks were not as hot as before and Linda Rotgren’s looks were not overwhelming, those of Carrie Whit were absolutely dogshit-low. This made her too sad to resist the tampons being hurled at her from every quarter. Not only did the humiliation make Carrie mad, spectators observed, it also gave her the telekinetic power to wreak revenge.

There was blood on the floor, seeping in a pool that seemed to pulse and expand like a heartbeat. Carrie’s eyes widened slightly. She saw the drops of blood falling down and questioned where they were coming from — then she realized, to her horror, it was her! From her! Another piece of shit news, which came at her like a shocking bullet train about to ram her into little pieces, was the curious-piqued stares of the other girls. Carrie White, whose patient mind and heart tolerated major abuse while she just tried to live her life, still couldn’t believe what happened next.

The girls were arguing over which sanitary products should be hurled at Carrie, which cost the least, and which girl should gloat over it the loudest. If classes at high school were not as kind as could be hoped and boys at high school were not forgiving of a girl’s looks, the pecking order was absolutely torture.

Carrie stood under the shower, shivering while the water pounded down. Her face was a gigantic moon of self-imposed misery and sorrow. Carrie’s meager breasts deflected the falling water off in sprays of gaudy hate. Her eyebrows were speckled with water and knotted together in consternation. Her fat arms hugged protectively around her midriff to shield her from abuse. Slowly, the other girls noticed her and reacted negatively. Their change in attitude was most terrifying; it signaled the start of a new abuse season.

The first soap bar slid under her feet and tripped her up, making her fall. She was too slow to catch her balance against the inevitable fall. Whether it involved spewing racist hate at her, kicking her legs under the school tables, or spitting on her as she passed in the hall, her classmates’ behavior was a thorn in her side which she could not remove.

If elementary school was governed by a mysterious set of rules which Carrie didn’t understand, then high school could evilly be characterized as one in which the weak were pushed around within a setting of abuse and xenophobic hate.

Yet in spite of these hatreds, there was no external indication that Carrie was eager during her abuse to end it. Not only did high school resembled ancient gladiatorial matches in Rome, she sadly thought, it also contained elements of the Spanish Inquisition.

Carrie White, whose pathetic breasts and hips moved up and down in rhythmic waves while she danced under the water, already had enough abuse for one day. If a blowjob given to a grown man was decadent for its transgressive nature, then a cowgirl-top fuckathon could seductively be shown to be the ultimate in sex actions.

Life was a game in which the weak were expelled only to find themselves, like tadpoles in a shark tank, hunted by giants. Another soft misery of her life, which caused her no end of grief, was the soccer field outside the high school. Carrie couldn’t decide which sport troubled her the most, which was likely to be the death of her, and which should not have been humanly possible at all.

Carrie turned away from her classmates to shield herself from their insults and the flying tampons. But this action was not enough to protect her; she was too weak and pathetic to defend herself fully against the haters. If high school rules were not as safe as before and small town rules were not enforced, her home life rules were total chaos.

Linda, who ruled the class with an iron fist, spat over Carrie’s right shoulder. That was the trigger for an avalanche of spitting and cursing by the girls. They started a surge of motion that quickly eclipsed her reason, small white tampons hitting and striking her with impunity.

The shower nozzles were on full blast as the party kept going on. A miserable expression was on Carrie’s hunted face, the only sign that she was feeling this. But the girl-gang wouldn’t give up: they kept pressing her, pressing her. More tampons flew at her head and breasts, some landed soggily in the pooling shower water, others missed and struck the wall silently. All the time, the girls were giggling or shouting or cursing at her. Carrie didn’t understand why this was happening; couldn’t they see she meant them no harm?

When her temper was broken at last, Carrie lashed back telekinetically. She used her mind-power to shatter the light bulbs just outside the square shower stall. She picked up one girl with her mind and swung her around only to drop her in a mess on the tiled floor. She glared hatred back at a girl who was snickering at her impolitely, and rammed her head with telekinesis into the wall. Yet in spite of her heroic efforts, there was no resistance that she could put up that would stop them.

After class, Carrie went home and got falling-down-stupid drunk on stolen liquor from her mother’s secret stash under the kitchen sink. Burping to herself, she fell silent in a drunken stupor. When she woke up, mom was staring down at her with rage and disapproval. Carrie felt herself withering under the maternal gaze until she broke down and sobbed. A self-controlled hand reached up calmly and came down to crack her across the face.

Mom stalked around the room in a fit of madness, cute little kittens scurrying and running out of her enraged path. Carrie was certain that mom was going to literally kill her. That was what she got for trusting her own mother. The pain of too-young death was impossible to bear; she hung her head and sobbed for long minutes. Whereas mom was short and thin, Carrie was tall and fat. The difference between them was striking enough to be noticed by all strangers. Occasionally, Mom made fun of her. She used words like “slut” and “whore of Babylon” to describe her own daughter. It was a terrible way to grow up, all around.

Meanwhile…