Carrie

by Stephen King

In the wake of two hundred deaths and the destruction of an entire town, it is so easy to forget one thing: We were kids. We were kids. We were kids trying to do our best . . .

People don’t get better, they just get smarter. When you get smarter you don’t stop pulling the wings off flies, you just think of better reasons for doing it.

But sorry is the Kool-Aid of human emotions. It’s what you say when you spill a cup of coffee or throw a gutterball when you’re bowling with the girls in the league. True sorrow is as rare as true love.

‘Let’s pray,’ Momma said softly. Her eyes fixed on Carrie’s and there was a crazed, awful compassion in them. The fire light was brighter now, dancing on the walls like dervishes. ‘For the last time, let us pray.’