heya it was going to snow 3-6 inches today so my mom let us stay home from school and then i put on my dark jack cosplay and went out to take pics!
dropping a phone in water one time and having it survive is being lucky. dropping it in water twice and having it survive is a miracle. but dropping it in water or having it get wet like five fucking times and having it be perfectly fine and functional means some straight up supernatural forces and shit are at work
my phone survived orange juice
He seemed to hear her, maybe he was just sleeping. She scooted back a bit, "Wake up!", she slapped the stone ground hoping to wake him up. ~KN
Pitch moaned. Why, would his mind start doing this? Making up these voices of the people he once knew. The people that had abandoned him.
He curled up, pressing his palms to his ears.
An anon appeared from a cloud of smoke in the room, she called out happily before registering her surroundings "Pitch?" It had been weeks and she had thought he was gone for good. She looked around the room for him, and quickly realized that oddly there were no exits and he was on the ground. She cautiously approached him and knelt down near him, something was wrong. She shifted back a little and asked again in a smaller voice, "Pitch?" ~KN (welcome back friend)
Pitch barely registered the sound of his name. The only discernible way to tell he had heard it was how his eyes squeezed shut. He must be dangerously close to crossing the line into insanity. He could tell, by the way his mind had conjured up that voice. Not only once, but twice.
Pitch knew he was alone. There was no one else and it was driving him crazy.
The ground felt rough beneath the pads of his fingers, Pitch noted. But that was all there was do. Notice and wait. How long had he been sitting here in this room? He couldn’t recall. It wasn’t really like he cared, though. No one cared. Pitch had been abandoned and was left here to rot. A breathy laugh made its way out of his mouth. How ironic it was how this loneliness affected him so much.
Pitch’s eyes swept the room, but nothing had changed. For however long he’d been here, he’d already taken note of every detail of everything in this place. The hairline cracks in the stone wall, the ridges and bumps in the uneven texture, the pattern of grays on the rock. He’d already seen it. He’d been surrounded by it for too long. For whatever reason, his ability to travel through shadows had ceased to exist. Powerless and helpless.
He rolled his head around, eyes not particularly focused on anything. His eyes passed over the bloody marks in the corner. Oh yes, the time he’d tried to escape. His fingertips were raw and red. It had all been useless, really.
Pitch’s head kept lolling around disturbingly, as if his body was merely a corpse. A few moments passed and he fell from his sitting position, his temple colliding painfully with the hard stone. Funny, his vision was swimming.