#henrybcwers

                             IT’S NOT THE CRAZY THAT bothers her. ( ask anyone — they’ll bill her for some electro-shock therapy, and call it a fresh morning stroll. ) pushing envelopes with danger is what keeps her in — draws her tight — makes this work. rather... it’s the sharp yarn-pull of henry’s sanity, this wisp of his fraying neurons, that shorts coraline out, sometimes. he’s hazy... not in that dumb dog kind’a way. in that, ‘ if i catch your throat, i’m gonna squeeze it, ’ kind of a way. ( and there’s a fine red line between that being hot and it being disturbing. ) for perhaps the thirtieth time this week — she backs off. way, way back.  “ do you wanna talk about it, or not?? ”

     “  ARE YOU GOING TO  stop spreading bullshit to everyone or what?  ”   she deadpans.    she’s angrier than usual,    cool & composed air still prominent but there’s  IRRITATION  behind her eyes    -    she won’t let him push her buttons   (  she’ll try not to  ),   doesn’t want to give him that satisfaction.         “  because...    I  know  what  i never did.  ”

“Hey hey hey, look at me, okay? How many fingers am I holding up?”

 “WHY ARE YOU SO MEAN?” georgie looks upon henry with the distaste and CONFUSION of an indignant child, the honesty in his tone truly one that only a person unafraid of the consequences could manage. he set his hand on his hip, his head tilted UPWARD so that he might bravely look at the bully. (he faced a clown once. henry bowers didn’t scare him.) “don’t you have any friends?” 

          “ heeeenryyyyy! ” the sound of a passing vehicle isn’t enough to drown out the sing-song call, a  s i r e n ’ s   s o n g  to draw the boy in.

     there, just beyond the dirt road, stands the   c   l   o   w   n   ,   red balloon in hand, grin contorting twisted features. it waves slowly to the boy nearing tears in his driveway.

🎈 IT WEEK !!! 🎈 henry bowers // @henrybcwers

                            HER VERY LAST DAY OF detention. thank every god and all their mothers that this HELL is at an end. coraline’s prompt — more prompt than usual for her three-o’clock stalemate date with henry bowers and his fists of fury. she passes him in the halls without wanting to tear out his throat, now — can stand to be in the same room without smoking him out of it. ( he hasn’t laid a finger on her since THAT DAY — progress. ) so, she sidles in at five-past — dares to sit a little closer than the standard three-row-barricade — drops a few cigarettes on henry’s desk as she passes.     ( not a truce, but it’s passable. )