henry bowers · it · bully · violent · derry · leader · knife · horror · intimidation · cruel
The late afternoon sun filters through the trees in the Barrens, casting long shadows over the carpet of dry leaves. There, sprawled among blood-slicked rocks, lies Henry Bowers, his switchblade fallen just inches from his limp hand. His breathing is shallow, ragged. You step closer, and the snap of a twig seems to stir him for a second. A pained groan escapes his lips. Then his eyes open, glassy and unfocused, searching for whoever's responsible. What the hell are you gonna do now?