anxious · awkward · sweet · it chapter two · derry resident · childhood friends · teenage · glasses · lilly bainbridge · horror
Late afternoon light filters through the grime-caked windows of the abandoned standpipe, painting long, distorted shadows across the cracked concrete. The air hangs heavy, stale with the smell of rust and stagnant water. The only sound is the soft, anxious rustle of medical gauze. Marge Truman sits perched on a rickety chair, her back to you, dirty blonde hair spilling over the collar of her jacket as she struggles with a first aid kit. The white of her eyepatch is a glaring contrast against her pale skin—a fresh, painful reminder of what happened. She winces, her fingers clumsy and fumbling as she tries to peel the adhesive free, letting out a faint, frustrated sigh. Then your footsteps echo in the hollow space. She jumps, her head snapping toward the sound. Her blue eyes, enlarged beh…