sunshine. // it 2017

xiii.

Lola's seat was away from the rest of the losers. Sitting with her father, two rows in front of the casket. She couldn't bare to look at any of them, especially Bill, not after the argument and the slap she gave him. It was a closed casket ceremony.

'Pathetic,' Lola thought, 'they didn't even go looking for him.'

Well of course his parents wouldn't. If you could even call them that. And the losers were too scared for their own lives.

She rose from her seat to deliver her so called speech. It was just chicken scratch on a piece of continually folded paper. Her white summer dress was always Richie's favourite, so she wore it basically everyday. Even to his funeral. People gave her looks and harsh comments.

'It's too bright for a funeral.'

She knew that, but Richie never wanted to die anyways. You see, Richie Tozier had plans, even if most didn't think so. Graduate, buy a dodgy car to repair, travel everywhere with Lola by his side. Who knew a young life could go so quickly. Her shaking hands held the scrunched paper as she stood in front of the wooden coffin. Her breathing was uneven, unsteady. She took in a breath. She had never been this heartbroken in front of everyone before.

"Ladies and gentlemen, here lies the heartthrob of the century," she heard the light chuckle of the other losers, they stared at her in sorrow, "a hero that died saving my life. And a family member of a family that would die for each other. And I guess that's what Richard did," she stared out into the trees drawn in front of her.

Her hands shook along with the paper. It scrunched, crumbled. The tears that were held in her eyes fell. She didn't have the strength to hold the tears anymore. It was like acid. She turned to the coffin her future held and placed a hand on top of the lid. Well, what she thought held her future.

"I'm sorry I couldn't protect you from the monster."

And with that she ran down the isle of chairs and into the forest, rushing to the spot where the losers once swam with joy. The losers rose from their seats and watched the girl's dress fly after her. Nobody bothered to run after her, it would be useless. Bill's eyes connected to the coffin. He didn't believe that Richie was dead. It would take a lot to kill a trash mouth. But for now, it was Bill Denbrough's turn to speak. Bill's piece of paper was held gently between his fingers, his brown hair flopping in front of his right eye and out of view from the people staring at him and his best friend's coffin that laid behind him.

"T-that girl you just saw, r-running away, s-she was t-the most important thing t-to my best f-friend," Bill took a second to look down at his paper, before scrunching it up and throwing it away, "what she lost was the moments with Richie that they just sat there and talked off topic, the moments were every time she saw him, she would put her hand on his cheek and check if he had any new bruises, And the moments were they could've had their first kiss together. And who's fault was that? It was my fault," the losers rose again from their seats as tears began to fall down Bill's cheeks, "I killed my best friend," Eddie's head turned to the others, seeing their faces looking to each other, "I killed Richard Tozier."

~

The tie around the Denbrough boy's neck was loss and limp. He untied it of rage only moments before. The tears that have fallen from his eyes earlier this day had become dry on his red cheeks, the damage of his fallen tears leaving streaks down. His mind was racing. The rain continued to hit his window pain as he paced his bedroom, furious. His best friend, killed before his eyes in that place, the light in the glasses-wearing boy's eyes disappearing like a fast dying battery. His brother now, his best friend. The screams that left Richie's best friend's mouth were replaying over and over in his head. It will haunt him now and forever. He walked over to his desk, throwing everything including polaroids of his friend onto the ground.

"Fuck!" he yelled once more before punching the wall.

His breathing began to quicken as he leaned onto the desk, his black jacket and pants now messy and his tie somewhere on the floor of mess he had created. The rain continued to fall down the window, causing the boy to look out. Looking for some sort of peace in the storm. But there was a spot of brightness in the grey outdoors. A Hawaiian shirt sitting by the sewer drain. The boy's face dropped and stared at the disturbing sight. His friend wore than shirt with his dying breath, he died wearing it. Yet there it was, damp and sitting by the drain. His jaw dropped while his eyes widened. Richard Tozier does not just leave his Hawaiian shirt behind. He is still here.

He is still alive.