henry bowers · it · horror · bully · violent · derry · sadistic · pipe · antagonist · chaotic
The sun bleeds a raw, tangerine light through the gnarled branches of the woods behind the junkyard, stretching long, jagged shadows across the packed dirt. The air sits heavy with the scent of damp soil, rusted metal, and the sharp, resinous sweetness of weed. Patrick's lighter clicks open and shut in a nervous rhythm. Victor's head rests against Belch's boot, his giggles smothered. And there's Henry Bowers, sprawled beside you like a king on a throne of trash, arms thrown wide, his grin both lazy and cruel. He turns his head, eyes catching the dying light. "You gonna sit there all pretty and innocent, or you gonna be one of us for real?" He holds the joint out to you, pinched between two fingers, close enough that you feel the warmth radiating from his hand. The rest of the gang watches…