Scott sat on the curb along the main drag of the small city, his right hand over his mouth and his eyes slowly drifting up and down the empty street. He was hungry, he was tired and he had writer's block. Scott figured (again, just like he always did) that this was some sort of "blessing" or something, that he was here... especially since Lisey told him he had died.

He knew he should be using this time to his advantage. Meeting the people around him, spending time with Lisey, writing.

But for some reason he was just sitting on the curb, lost in his mind somewhere and absently staring at the road. Somewhere in his mind, he wondered where everyone he had met so far had gone to. He had been alone for far too long. He hadn't even seen Lisey in a day or so.

(no subject)

This place is so strange. Carrie can't recall what happened. . . she remember a fire, and blood. Momma. With a shudder, she rises to her feet. Is this Heaven? She feels her heart race exponentially. One street town, empty. Maybe this is purgatory. Or Hell. Maybe Momma was right, maybe she was a witch. . . maybe.

"H-hello?" her voice came out meek. No one would be able to hear that. Stepping carefully, she observes her new surroundings. With a gasp, she sees some kid's abandoned tricycle tremor. She's nervous. What if someone sees? Biting her lip, she stills the tricycle and walks on, hoping someone will show up.
88 b&w

(no subject)

Going on an adventure with McVries was a strange thing. What was even stranger: it felt the two of them had been in this electrical room together for weeks although it was probably only minutes, but that was this strange Afterlife for ya. A second is a month, a year a minute, and who knew what the Hell else could happen?

"Hey, Pete," he mused, halting a moment, "where did Olson, Baker, and Garraty go? Hell, where'd anyone go?" He paused. "Feels like we're the only two here, doesn't it? Does that thought tickle your fancy? You and me, the last two men on an Earth made of Afterlife?"

Stebbins reached out and touched the wall. It was dusty, cobwebby. Nonetheless he trailed his slim fingers across it until he reached the electrical box.


Lisey Landon was leading Beverly Marsh to the small but surprisingly stocked clothing store around the corner from the restaurant and walking only slightly ahead of her, looking back at her to answer her question. "Grew up in Maine. Lived around Castle Rock." A small smile crossed her face. "And don't worry about money. I think in this case you should be okay with borrowing a few things to wear." None of them had really borrowed at that point -- they had all kept. "That's what we've all been doing here. There's a sheriff here and he said it was fine too. So you have nothing to worry about."

Pulling on the door to the store, Lisey squinted against the breeze and held it open for Beverly. She briefly wondered if they would be the only ones wandering the aisles of clothing today.
Bloody scream | Movie Bev

(no subject)

The screaming is becoming old quickly, but Beverly can't help it. She doesn't know what's going on, and as much as she can't stand him, her father not being able to see the blood splattered all over the bathroom is didn't make sense.

She went out to get some towels in the linen closet. Even if he couldn't see the blood, she sure as hell could

Just before she grabs a towel, she found herself standing in a strange new place.

Beverly looked around, face and night-gown splotched with blood. Warily she called out, "H-Hello?"

this is my version of paradise.

Peter wandered into the arcade, briefly wondering if this is what little kids in candy stores felt like. He wasn't sure how long he was staring at all the forms of entertainment, but he made sure to stop for a a moment and turn around to face Stebbins, who was still standing at the door.

"Thanks," Peter said, motioning to the lock. "I probably would've been there for a couple hours pushing that paper clip around if you hadn't showed up."

Wait, Stebbins was his hero at this moment in time. How was that even possible? He slayed the door-beast that stood between him and the arcade. That was when McVries pictured himself in a poofy pink dress, trapped in a tower screaming HELP HELP HELP like some bitch damsel who still wouldn't let you in her pants once you saved her. With a short, absent chuckle at the thought, he moved further into building, gaze shifting all over.

Why were the games on, but not the lights around and above them?

Anyone got a lockpick?

Peter had his face mashed against the glass of an old building, his hands cupped around his eyes to keep the sunlight out. There were arcade games inside. They looked old and like they had been played on by grubby little hands countless times -- but they were still arcade games.

And they were on.

Wandering over to the entrance of the building, McVries slipped his fingers over the handle and jiggled it. It was locked, naturally. He peered from side to side though, his mind told him to break in (he was sure he could, and it's not like anyone would care, right?) but he looked around to make sure he was alone first.


Gordie tossed the flat rock across the murky pond and counted. Four, five, six.....six! Six skips across the pond, that was definitely a personal best. Too bad Chris wasn't here yet. Gordie doubted he could make a throw like that again. Yawning, he turned his back on the pond and gazed at the path that led to town. Where was Chris anyway? He really should be here be now.

Stretching, he yawned again and wondered briefly what time it was. Not that it mattered much. Time here was suspended somehow. It didn't mean anything and it passed without notice. He did the same thing every day no matter what. He got up just after sunrise, he explored the town for anything or anyone new, then met Chris here at the park.

Before he could toss another rock across the lake, Gordie caught sight of Chris and ...Teddy?

(no subject)

 Teddy finds himself sitting on the curb by the convenience store, a cigarette dangling from his lips - unlit - . He's flicking the thumbwheel on a lighter and for the most part, minding his own business. Every so often someone exits the store and the chimes jingle faintly behind him, sometimes he would do a double-take over his shoulder to see if it was anyone he knew. It never is. The heat is sweltering but it's a lot better outside than it is in. Where was everybody? And what is there to do in this fucking town? Another bead of sweat rolls down the side of his face.

"God damn."

Oh how darling.

So I dreamt about the Major last night during what little sleep I got and I all I can remember is him standing on his fucking jeep and me telling him to suck it.

Does anyone have any insight on this? I heard once that your dreams can mean something or some slap-happy crappy. But I never paid attention to any of it. I was wondering if any of you guys did.