𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐎𝐕𝐀

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐍 | 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐄

The Capes for Christ event was every bit as suffocating as I had expected. Inside the towering glass building, the walls gleamed under the artificial lights, casting everything in a pristine, sterile glow. Giant banners hung overhead with slogans like "God's Work, Powered by Vought!" and "Faith and Strength in Every Hero." The air smelled faintly of incense, mixing with the ever-present undertones of money and power.

My stomach twisted as I stepped inside, her footsteps quiet on the marble floor. It was my first time at the event and seeing all the people in their religious rave brought me back to my childhood...

I had always thought Christian Summer Camp would be a peaceful escape from home, a place where I could find friends and perhaps, for once, a sense of belonging. But from the moment she stepped off the bus, it was clear that this summer would be anything but tranquil.

My fellow campers were quick to spot an easy target. Shy, quiet, and pious, I seemed different, and different was always a magnet for cruelty. The first prank seemed innocent enough: they hid all my underwear. I laughed it off, thinking it was some kind of initiation. But when I found a snake in my shoe the next morning, and my bunk was short-sheeted, the laughter started to feel forced. The jokes weren't ending—they were only escalating.

Things got worse on the hiking trip. I had fallen behind, desperate to relieve herself in the privacy of the bushes. But in my rush, I made a terrible mistake. I grabbed the wrong leaves—poison ivy. By the time they returned to camp, my skin was inflamed, and the kids wasted no time in giving me a new name. "Scratch ass," they chanted whenever I passed, their cruel laughter echoing through the cabins.

I tried to keep her head down, but they never let up. Even during the swim in the lake, they found ways to torment me. At first, it seemed like a game—ducking my head underwater, splashing around—but then they wouldn't let me come up for air. Panic set in. I tried to push them off, my arms flailing, my lungs screaming for oxygen. When I finally broke the surface, gasping for air, they stood around laughing, still chanting that same cruel nickname.

I retreated further into myself, praying quietly at the camp chapel whenever I could. I tried to join in the other activities, hoping that maybe, just maybe, they'd accept me if I kept playing along. But no matter what I did, the insults and the pranks continued. "Old praying, fart face Carrie," they'd jeer, never missing a chance to humiliate me.

By the end of the week, my spirit was shattered. I couldn't take it anymore. With red, swollen eyes from nights spent crying, I begged to go home. The camp reluctantly agreed, sending me back on the bus a week early. When I arrived at the station, my mother stood waiting, her expression stern. I had hoped for comfort, for understanding—but instead, I was met with disapproval.

My mother said nothing as we drove home. Upon arriving, I was sent to the closet, the place where I'd always been sent to "pray away my sins." Hours passed as I knelt on the hard floor, praying not just for forgiveness, but for strength. Strength to endure, strength to be heard, and strength to find my own voice in a world that seemed determined to silence me...

My fingers twitched, instinctively curling into a fist as I moved further into the room, but I forced myself to relax. Stay calm, Carrie. Don't let them see you crack.

The space was already filling up with guests—churchgoers, donors, and fans. All eyes turned to her as she entered, the room momentarily pausing to acknowledge the arrival of another celebrity Savior. It was always the same. The adoring glances. The hushed whispers. The expectation that she'd be a symbol of hope, a walking embodiment of faith.

But I didn't feel like any of those things. Not today. Not anymore.

I moved through the crowd, smiling, nodding at familiar faces, my mask firmly in place. Each step felt heavier than the last. I was aware of every camera in the room, every set of eyes watching her, judging me. It was suffocating. The weight of it all threatened to crush me.