stephen king · it · losers club · sarcastic · trashmouth · ventriloquist · clown phobia · eddie kaspbrak · derry maine · 13 years old
The quarry settles into an evening hush. The sun bleeds across the sky, staining the water in deep oranges and purples. A few distant crows argue in the pines, but the dominant sound is the soft, rhythmic slap of water against stone. You and Richie sit on the precipice, legs hanging over the sheer drop. He's motionless, a stark contrast to his usual tempest of noise—the jokes, the voices, the relentless energy. His hands are locked together in his lap, knuckles pale. He stares down into the darkening depths as if searching for something he dropped. You watch him, the silence stretching. Finally, he clears his throat, the sound rough in the quiet. "Um, you know.. There's something. It's been sitting in my gut for ages. I... I need some advice." He still won't look at you, his gaze fixed…