Prom Queen ｡ Michael Langdon

18 - CHAOS AND GLORY

     The thick, cold blood on Carrie felt like a second skin, another layer of gory, gross flesh. It moved in red rivers, dripping into patterns that were equally hideous and beautiful. Carrie should have felt unclean and dirty, but remarkably, she didn't. Later that night, she would wonder if blood could be cleansing, wondered if this night, her second birth, was akin to being baptised again. 

     But right now, as the bouquet of fresh flowers stained crimson, fell from her grasp, Carrie felt sick to her stomach with rage and humiliation. She stumbled forward on her borrowed heels, the skirt of her ruined silk dress dragging a puddle of blood in her wake. She looked from her bloodied hands to the crowd before her that stared up at her with faces of blinking, saucer eyes and hanging mouths. No one in the crowd had expected this kind of crowning. The stunned silence was deafening. 

     "What the fuck?" Tommy Ross shouted out, blood marking his face and the shoulders of his suit too, though he had only received some of the over-splash of pig's blood. "Who fucking did this?" Tommy wiped off the blood on the side of his face roughly, his eyes narrowing. He couldn't believe someone would do this to Carrie Moore—it was despicable. 

     There was giggling off in the wings of the stage and the bloodied king and queen flicked their gazes to Deliah Snell and Christabelle Slater clutching at each other in a fit of laughter. The silence of the crowd didn't last long and laughing took its place, stirred on by Deliah and Christabelle. The laughter was cruel and mean and mostly collective, all directed at Crazy Carrie with a thing for blood. Down in the throng of students, Ava Gold was hushing people with pointed fury. How dare they do something like this to her friend! 

     Mr Sanberg was the closest person of authority to the stage, and he wasn't even trying to the hide the chuckle that vibrated through his chest as he approached the stage, holding one hand over his nose to prevent him from breathing in the horrid smell of cold pig's blood. 

     "You've made quite the mess, Carrie," he announced, as if this was Carrie's fault. Mr Sanberg went for Carrie, ready to guide the girl off the stage and to the boy's locker room—the closest locker room—to clean off. 

     "Are you kidding me?" Tommy roared out before Carrie even had the chance to rebut. The soft jock stepped forward, ready to push Mr Sanberg away, but he didn't make it to Carrie's side. 

     No one would ever know if it was God's plan or just a trick the universe decided to play, but at that moment, the loosely tied rope holding the bucket dripping with pig's blood slipped. The bucket fell from its great height above the stage, dropping like a stone in its decent. The bucket slammed against's Tommy head with damning force, cracking the skull open like an egg. Echoing screams littered the air as Tommy hit the floor instantly, more blood escaping onto the stage floor.  

     "Tommy!" Deliah cried out, dashing towards her ex-boyfriend dead on the bloodied stage. The blonde teenager girl slipped on the puddle of pig's blood, the same blood she and Christabelle had purchased from a butcher two days ago. The daring red material of her dress soaked into the spilt blood as she skidded to Tommy's motionless side. Christabelle was still standing in the wings of the stage, frozen in disbelief—she and Deliah had murdered Westfield High's favourite jock. Accident or not, murder was murder. "Oh, my god! Tommy!" Deliah sobbed, tears slicing through the heavy make-up decorating her pretty face. The salty tears traced lines down her face that ran side-by-side with the leaking mascara. There was muttering in the crowd, but no one knew what to do, not really. A teenage boy was dead and it was like Winn Nelson all over again. 

     Carrie watched the scene unfold, her heart hardening, turning to ice and winter. But the thing about ice and winter was that it more brutal, more violent, than fire and it destroyed so slowly and so determinately. For ice was always the endgame. While fire could fizzle out and die when there was nothing left to burn, ice didn't. Ice could keep expanding for miles and for years without the sun. Ice was worse than fire, and right now, Carrie's rage wasn't burning hot, it was freezing cold.