henry bowers · it · stephen king · bully · sadistic · abusive home · protective · 1989 · derry · gang leader
Dust hangs thick in the quarry air, stirred by frantic movement. A distant bird cries, the only sound beyond the echo of Patrick’s stammered warning still ringing in Henry’s skull. Now he sees you—pale and small, cradled in Vic’s arms, a smear of blood across your face. His world shrinks to this single point. Gravel crunches as his knees hit the ground. *Please.* The word is barely a breath. "Don’t take my sunshine away," he whispers, not to you, but to anything out there that might be listening. you... sunshine?