Prom Queen ｡ Michael Langdon

11 - SNOW IN LOS ANGELES

     Every night, in the Devil's Hour, Carrie Moore would practice lifting objects. She would stir awake automatically, pushing the covers off her limbs and gather her books on her bed. She wouldn't even brush the sleep from her eyes, always too compelled, always too electrified to bother with anything else. While Carrie still didn't know nearly enough about her power yet, she had come to the conclusion that her mother was right—Carrie did have a blood curse. One that allowed her to do the unimaginable, the insane and the wonderful. Or the wicked, depending on which way you looked at it. 

     Margaret Moore definitely considered it wicked and evil, and a gift from the Devil himself. Carrie had shown signs of her power when she was young and it had made Margaret regret and wish that she had given her daughter to the Lord when she had given birth to Carrie in that very same house when the moon was swollen and red.

     Margaret had never told her daughter, or anyone else, that Carrie had been born during a blood moon, believing it was a sign, an omen, from God about the darkness that dwelled in the baby girl. She remembered staring at the baby, sleek with blood and birthing fluid, blinking in her new world. Margaret had held a pair of dressmaking scissors above her newborn, right above her tiny, beating heart. But the longer she stared at the babe, the weaker she grew and then she lowered the scissors and that was Margaret's greatest mistake, or so she believed till this very day.

     Knowing her daughter was different, cursed by the Devil, she sheltered her daughter greatly. She was strict, impossibly strict, and ruled the house with an iron fist rooted in her Christian fundamentalism. When Carrie was younger, Margaret would pray for her daughter's soul, but she didn't pray for Carrie anymore. Carrie was a lost soul, damned for the fires of hell. 

     The school library was starting to feel safe again for Carrie, and the closer they got to summer, the cooler the library got. The air-conditioner worked harder to fight off the dawning heat and the blonde teenager wished for winter again. Carrie and Ava Gold searched one of the many aisles side-by-side, reading the titles with their heads bent to the side a little. 

     "I can't wait to go to university," Ava was saying, eyes scanning the rows for inspiration to strike. Ava Gold was a scholar; she loved learning new things and only wanted to broaden her mind. "I can only imagine the wider book collections there," she added, flashing Carrie a smile. 

     "And the unrestricted access to scholarly databases," Carrie replied, smiling back as she dragged a finger over the book spines. 

     "Gosh, my mouth is just salivating at the thought!" The girls laughed together and Carrie didn't know how she had gotten so lucky to have two friends suddenly. She had gone her whole life without having a simple friend, a single person that didn't think she was weird, or cursed or damned or crazy. She was terrified that the universe was playing a sick joke on her. Just chuckling before it ripped Carrie's heart out of her chest, taking away her tiny happiness at Westfield High, taking away the only solace she knew with Michael Langdon. "Do you know what university you want to go to?" Ava asked, pulling a book free from the crowded shelf. 

     Carrie shook her head. "Anywhere but Los Angeles," she said breathing in the scent of old books; soft paper and faded ink. While Carrie didn't really allow herself to wonder about the future too much, it was hard. When she wasn't wondering about her power or Michael Langdon, she was thinking about leaving for university and leaving her mother. Sometimes the very notion would leave her with a bellyache, other times, a bud of excitement would open in her heart, bright and powerful. She was nearly eighteen and could start a new life, someplace where it snowed and had more cold days than warm ones. The guidance counsellor had encouraged Carrie to send off some university applications, so she had, without giving it too much thought, save for further the better.