Not Running Anymore

Hello, everyone. This is my first Creepypasta, and I would kindly request for you to go easy on my first try. TuggingaRhythm (talk) 18:22, March 7, 2014 (UTC)

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Discovered by the Military on the night of August 13th, 2016. The computer was in a fine condition, and didn't hold very many files on it other than a couple of rich text formats on the desktop, written by College dropout, Alexander.

"Guys, help! It's one of those creatures!" Shouted my friend from a couple feet behind us. He was always the slow one. We turned around, and then ran towards the source of the shouting, and around the bend of the street. There our friend was, laughing his head off. His name was Chris, seventeen, blonde with blue eyes. "I can't believe you guys actually fell for that!" He exclaimed, before we rolled our eyes and began turning away. His laughter suddenly came to a stop when the back of his collar was grabbed. He struggled, but more came. The gnashing jaws from behind him uttered a twisted, horrible fate and spelled internal demolition on the back of his neck. The prisons eventually came to a stop in his neck, where more of the teeth sank in and more blood was spurted. The metal gate eventually gave in, the hinges long since rusted, ripping the metallic frames off of the wooden fence. The gate landed straight on Chris, pinning him to the ground while they continued their feast, ripping off sections of his flesh and throwing it aside, and some of them ate parts of him, such as his eyes, tongue, hands, jaw... etc. These... things seemed to have had some actual intelligence; for once.

Our friends and I just stood there as we watched the gruesome scene unfold. We didn't know why, but something just urged us to make sure that the creatures didn't stop until they were done with him, and that he wouldn't reanimate. Thirteen seconds after, when his throat was ripped out, and thrown aside, we began bolting. Where to didn't matter; as long as we were away from them, it seemed like a good idea. The cold wind blew, hints of the snowflakes held inside it. That is, until we heard the pounding of more than six feet behind us. There, passing by, was a large semi-truck, recklessly driving as though the driver had no clue what they were doing. When they crashed into the fence in front of the creatures, they rebounded through the windshield and barreled into the horde. Now that we were safe, as most of them were caught in the collision. "That guy," I started humorously to my friends, "wasn't wearing his seat belt." Most of them didn't seem to have heard me. Oh well. They just seemed focused on getting somewhere to hide, and that would be go time. "Shut up." the stone-cold, black-haired one said.

That was at least a day ago. I killed one of my friends. On purpose. There was no hesitation. She wasn't infected, and I've come to realize that. On the thought of thinking that I was insane, all my other friends left. They're dead now, probably. I'm holding out in some sort of shelter; I don't even know what to call it. It's not home, but it's not a cabin in the woods, either, so it's a relief for the most part. They don't seem to know where I am; if I can keep it that way, it'll be a perfect hiding spot until the military rolls through in the tanks. Two hours ago, I went down to the fridge in order to see if there was any food left. Now, I won't go out on a limb and say that there was three shelf-fulls, because honestly, I wouldn't be entirely serious. There was at least a shelf and a half. It was enough, I suppose, but I'm not sure what exactly I was looking for, and none of the food seemed consumable except for an apple and a bunch of rotten ones, and I certainly didn't feel like eating rotten food. I opened up one of the drawers, and there was a head of one of the creatures outside. It wasn't writhing, it was just... dead. I heard a bunch of times that in order to kill one of them, you had to kill the brain in order to. There was no bullet hole in the skull.

I'm alone now. Writing this. I don't know why, but I find solace in being alone. Other people are just a liability, something to rely on until they become like them. None of them saw me on my way here, thankfully. I mentioned that before, didn't I? I think I did. Oh well. Either way. I can hear movement outside, and people crawling across the floor with no legs, and it's not my imagination either. They can probably hear how loud I'm writing this, as I'm using a computer. Dell. Internet-less. A day ago, I forgot I had it inside my backpack. Never too late to use a computer, even if you believe you're so close to death it's unbearable. I'm running on 50% battery, and I won't have enough time to write for six more days, as thankful as I would be to do that. It's cold. Twenty-five Celsius, I think. I don't have my phone with me. Oh well. Their ears are sure to have rotted off by now, so I don't actually think they can hear me. As for the fresh ones? I don't know if they have ears or not, 'cause they would've heard my footsteps otherwise.

Either I'm going to freeze to death or I'm going to end my own life. I hear Hell's warm. They say it's unbearable. I don't fear death, and I have three options. One, freeze to death. Two, end my own life. Three, give myself to them as a peace offering. They haven't brushed their teeth in a long time, so I don't think I'll want to use the third option. It doesn't seem like a bad idea. There's a rapid sound, now. Thud thud, thud, thud, thud thud, thud. The rapid sounds of those living corpses falling as their brain rotted before their skull did. I can hear my own heartbeat, a steady pace... thud thud... thud thud... thud thud... thud thud... I wonder why I can hear it better...

There's a fine sound outside, now; a rolling of military vehicles. They've come, and the creatures are angry. I don't care. As long as they don't attack me, I'm fine with it. Then, there's another rapid sound. A loud banging. Doesn't sound as much of a creature as the other sounds. I'm going to go see what it was. Saving this just in case...