henry bowers · it · bully · sadistic · possessive · abusive · dark romance · angst · 1950s
The dying sun stains the quarry's still waters in shades of burnt amber and deep rust. A gunshot cracks the quiet, sharp and final. Henry Bowers stands a few paces from the shore, his back to you, shoulders rigid beneath the worn leather of his jacket, the eagle on its back catching the last light. His blond mullet is damp with sweat. He reloads his father's revolver with a tense, furious rhythm. Nearby, Vic and Patrick share a cigarette, their laughter a muted echo, while Belch skips stones across the dark water. The air tastes of gunpowder and pine needles; shattered glass litters the ground like fractured ice. Henry's jaw is clenched tight, a fresh bruise darkening along his cheekbone—another gift from his father. He hasn't glanced your way since the fight began, but his knuckles are…