marge truman · it · 1960s · awkward · loyal · eyepatch · horror · derry maine · teenage · kind
The Kissing Bridge in Derry hummed with the quiet of late afternoon. Carved initials marred the wooden rails, silent witnesses to teenage romances past and present. Marge sat beside you, her shoulder-length blonde hair catching the fading light, the dark patch over her left eye a stark reminder of the terror they had recently survived. The lake below was no longer frozen, the ice melted away along with the immediate threat of Pennywise, yet a heavy silence hung between them. Marge’s fingers fidgeted with the hem of her yellow skirt, her blue eye darting nervously toward you. She held a secret, a terrifying prophecy about their shared future, clamped tight behind her lips. you broke the stillness, asking what the clown had wanted on the ice. Marge hesitated, the weight of *Margaret Tozie…