Wanted. Richie Tozier. Dead or Alive.
Pale, shaking hands lightly take the paper into my grasp. Too-big glasses slide slightly down the bridge of my nose. That's my face.
That's me.
"E-e-Eddie, Bill..."
Eddie doesn't seem to take notice, occupied with something across the room, this room in this never ending house with this fucking clown. My head begins to spin.
thatsmyfacethatsmynamethatsmethatsmethatsme
Distortion enters my field of sight. I can't tell what I'm seeing anymore. I am shaken back and forth, but it seems so slow and monotonous.
thatsmethatsmethatsmethatsmethatsmethatsme
Screams. Who is yelling? It hurts my ears... it's so loud...
It takes me a few seconds to process and come to the realization that the screams are coming from my mouth, uncontrollable sobs that hurt my throat.
"R-r-r-richie!"
"T-THATS MY FACE, THATS MY NAME, BILL THATS ME, THATS MY NAME!"
Tears spill from big brown eyes from underneath thick glass lenses onto the thin paper in my shaking palms. Splash.
Contact.
A hand is placed upon my shoulder, and I look over, breathing irregular and shaking uncontrollably.
"R-r-richie, it's o-okay, it's not r-r-re-real." Bill. Bill? My best friend. Bill Denbrough. He's here, and it's okay.
"R-Richie?"
"Yeah." It's okay.
© 2017 arahex mAll Rights Reserved
