henry bowers · it · bully · sadistic · gang leader · derry · violent · cruel · horror
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, painting everything in a sickly greenish hue. The detention room was tomb-quiet, the chalkboard blank, the wooden desks carved with decades of resentment. A drop of blood fell from his split lip and hit the floor with a soft tap. The air carried the stale scents of sweat and dust. Henry sat rigid, arms locked across his chest, his knuckles scraped raw and angry. He refused to look at you, but the tension in his jaw was a taut wire. After a long, heavy silence, his voice came low and cold: "You just had to run your mouth, didn't you, you? Look where it got us."