Gone Girl // IT Fanfiction

Zero: The Not-Writer

I am not a writer. I never have been. It's not my kind of artform. 

Give me a paintbrush or some charcoal, along with a canvas or some good quality sketch paper, and I can give you a thousand pieces of art. Give me a pencil and tell me to write some words, and I can give you this: A big old wordy mess. 

But words are easier to use when it comes to this. If I were to draw it out I think the creations may slip off the page and come to life. Let the images live in my mind, at least I know how to keep them hidden. I can control them in there. I don't want to see them with my own eyes, though. Not again. 

I can hear Richie downstairs. From what I can pick up it sounds like he's setting up the easel he and our parents brought for today. I've known about it for the past week now, all three of them are terrible at hiding things - I don't even think our parents tried - but I'll act as surprised as I was when I first found out. Hearing him downstairs, cluttering about and swearing like a sailor makes me grin. I used to cringe at his foul language, wondering where the Hell he picked it up from. It couldn't have been our parents, when are they ever around if it isn't someone's birthday or Thanksgiving or Christmas? Probably school, that's where most kids pick it up from. Nowadays, though, I'm thankful to hear it. After everything we've been through... 

And not just us. The others as well, our little Losers club. And all the other kids who probably saw or heard things too. And then... Well, the victims of course. They got the worst of It. 'It' with a capital 'I' is no grammar mistake, by the way. They really did get the worst of It.

Sorry. Morbid jokes like that are nothing to laugh about. Richie and I obviously share in our sense of humour. I won't do it again. 

But yeah, I'm happy to hear Richie swear. I'm happy to be sitting on my bed and writing this down. I'm happy. First time in years I'm happy. 

But that's part of our story, the whole "why were you not happy?" thing. So I guess with that little arc, I might as well start. 

It began hundreds of years ago apparently, but for the purpose of this story we'll just be focusing on the most recent attack. For the people of Derry and one boy in the Losers Club, it began on a rainy day in October, 1988. It began with Georgie, and what happened to him... 

Author Note: Let it begin...
xoxo
DM