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My little brother got into outer space and stuff so my step-mom bought him a place mat with all the planets on it. When I first saw it, I was upset, because it was newer and so Pluto wasn’t labeled. I was about to say something when I noticed something…

Pluto is there.

The artist remembered Pluto.

Guys…

The artist drew Pluto crying.

(Source: rubywhiterabbit, via slender-avenger)

The sky is blank. It feels as if a tsunami is crashing over me, drowning me, sucking me into its ocean depths. It as if the necessity of oxygen is absent from the atmosphere.

My head spins with the buzz of trumpets and horns. Their breaths build up in the atmosphere making it uneasily warm.

I struggle to stand. My legs are jelly and I can hardly control my hands as if they were completely separate from my own body.

I hold the little box in my hand, feeling the small bump and I flick it.

A sound of static echoes through the atmosphere, implying those dreaded words.

It’s time.

I stand above the tsunami and the trumpets. My eyes scan over them.

My stomach tightens and my body nauseates.

My palms sweat and my fingers tingle.

The atmosphere slowly drifts into darkness as my eyes close and I gulp back the last remains of silence.

My mouth opens and millions of words bellow out into the atmosphere drifting softly over the trumpets, silencing them. The sky, once blank, fills with works of art. Empowering emotions sink into the ocean, turning it from dark navy blue to a beautiful, shining turquoise green, sparking, glinting and glimmering in some sweet sunlight.

I can breathe; I can feel my hands again. I feel as if I glide upon the air.

I bow to the waves. I have mastered them.

My face breaks a smile and I stare at the world before me.

It’s over. I am free.