@baseballtees / it verse.
derry wasn’t a place for weird kids. but how come everyone in town was a little odd? tj rode his bike home to his sisters, after a long day putting up with trash and pre-teens at the arcade. just a few hundred dollars, and he’d bail, escape from this cell he was forced to call home.
an unexpected guest comes to his head when staring at the ceiling on his bedroom, simple minds banging loudly with closed doors and windows. who’s this? he asks with a thought. always bad with small talk.
despite knowing what seemed like everyone who lived in derry, the town always felt quiet to ted -- not peaceful, by any means, just crouched, waiting. the impressions he usually gets are passive, scenes of horror or dismay from years ago, ghosts of people and places and pain filtering through his mind like flipping through channels on a tv.
tv’s don’t usually talk back, though.
ted stops in place on the sidewalk, head canted over his shoulder though he knows nobody behind him called out. he squints, grip tightening on the dusty baseball in his hand. his mind’s always worked better with pictures than with words, so he tries to send one out now -- the weather-worn sign outside of the tracker bros. make-shift baseball field loudly proclaiming ‘HELLO AND WELCOME’. he wonders, idly, if it’d be easier to send the message if he knew who ( or what? ) he was talking to.
