You Won't Wake Up: A CreepyPasta FanFiction (Watty's 2014)

Dead or Alive

I sprint down the street, my breath still coming at even intervals. My hood is flipped up, and a car rolls past. I dive behind a bush, hoping the dark green hoodie blends with the dark shrubbery. I hold still as the car's headlights pass over the bush, and they drive past. It was a cop car. Probably looking for me, I presume. They don't want to alert me that they're on the lookout, so that explains it. I hold still even after it's left. A cop could be following it, looking for me. I'm a quite wanted character in this town.

I pass another sign for a missing child. This time it's a little girl named Lucy. Four foot, two inches, blue eyes, blonde hair. Missing for two weeks. Ten years old. Probably Slender. If so, she won't show up. At least, not her whole body will.

My feet stop pacing back and forth, and I peer more closely at the sign. Crap. I thought the parents would've accepted she's gone. I mean, most children on those missing signs don't appear again in this town. I think I remember her.

I had walked a bit out of the woods, and saw her. It seemed easy enough, I mean, little ten year old girl, parents probably shelter her. Spoiled little brat. My mind came up with millions of assumptions. No stains on her dress, means her parents probably don't let her out often. Her blonde hair was braided into two perfect braids. Oh, great, this means her mom still brushes her hair. Probably still dresses her. Bitch. You can't shelter your child forever. They need to see the cruelty of the world. They need to know beyond the trees and the flowers, there are killers and thieves, who don't bat an eye at killing little "angels."

"Help." I whispered, adding a certain urgency to my voice. Her head lifts up, and she frowns at my nightgown, stained with dirt. Little bitch. Little freaking brat. Her mom probably tells her not to judge others, and she does. Probably goes to some secluded little private school, because God have mercy that she experiences diversity!

"What?" She says, wariness in her voice.

"Please. There's a man. He's attacked me, and I escaped, and then-" I break off in a sob. She steps even closer to me.

"Well, what do you want me to do?" She says, slightly irritated. I was right! Little "angel" doesn't want to help the presumed kidnap victim. Just like every other kid I've ever met. Martyr, angel, saint. Always called caring and loving and helpful and brilliant and sweet and just the bestest person you could ever meet! Yay!

"I just," I grab her arm, "Please, come with me."

"Why?" She says, and yanks her arm out of my grasp.

"Because he's behind you." I whisper, adding emphasis on each different syllable, to stress the urgency. I tug her into the forest, and shove her behind a tree.

"Oh, god. I'm gonna die. Please leave me alone." She shrieks, pushing me away.

"No! You can't go out! He'll take you!" I whimper. Perfect, her face starts crumpling into pity.

"Okay. We'll be fine. We need to lose him." She takes my hand, wincing at the dirt on my hands. Clean freak. She runs, dragging me along after her. I pretend to stumble, keeping up the facade of just a lost little girl.

We enter into a clearing, and she looks around.

"Where are we?" I shrug. Of course I do! How does she not know me? My name, description, everything has been printed in every newspaper! I slowly take my knife out of my sock, and look at her. Luckily her back is turned to me, trying to find a way out, I assume. Her blood will spill across the grass, even angels eventually rot. Look at Lucifer. Every demon is an "angel" turned bad.

She turns around, and her eyes widen at my knife.

"Just. Play with me." I say, and her eyes grow wide, threatening to pop out of her skull. How does stabbing someone's eye out feel? Is it like jelly, or like clay? I grin at her. I slowly pull my teddy bear and hold it up.

"You're that chick everyone was talking about at school! I thought you were some urban legend!" She shrieks. "Help! Help! Mom! Dad!"

I leap, and tackle her to the ground.

"We're gonna play a game, okay? You just gotta jump that fence, and if you can find some pages and escape, you win. If you don't-"

"What happens?" She says, anger apparent in her high-pitched voice.

I smile wickedly at her, "You probably don't want to know, I'm not even supposed to tell."

She opens her mouth to interrupt me. Enough is enough! I swing my arm at her, and my knife makes a small cut in her perfect cheek. She yelps.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? Don't interrupt me goddamnit!" I snarl at her. She snivels, and nods her head quickly.

"I'll tell you, though. If you don't, your limbs will be torn of your weak little body." I push her. "And you'll watch as your organs are pulled from your body, each drop of blood staining the grass. When you die, it's from blood loss, but trust me, you'll wish it was anyone except him. Now go!"

I shove her, and she runs to the fence, and starts climbing up it. She's surprisingly quick at climbing. She jumps, and she lets out a small scream.

"Shut up!" I whack the fence with the hilt of my knife. "Don't waste your goddamn time!" She runs off, in hunt of pages. The sun's setting, she'll get scared, and she'll get disoriented. She will never make it out alive. I smirk. Another little martyr. One day, there won't be any more martyrs left.

I stop. Oh crap. Another cop car passed, and I lunged into the bush by me. The car leaves, and I stay still, in the way I always do while hiding. A couple of minutes pass, and I look at the sign by the missing brat's. There's a picture of someone. A girl named Sally, with brown hair, and a slight smile. She wears a pink night gown. It's oddly not an arrest sign, not saying any information leading to the arrest of her is needed, just says missing. It's years old. Five years old. No. They found my body. I came back. I came back. They found the body. They arrested him. They found me. Why haven't they taken the sign down yet? I need more. More bodies, too large for a funeral, the only way to get rid of it is to burn.

We all burn. We're all flames. Some flames realize that they spark, that they burn, that they can destroy. I realized. Jack, Jeff, Jane, Ben, we all realized. Some flames die out. Others join together to burn brighter than other flames. Some are used to light candles, some used to light houses.

We're all metal. But only some of us are sharpened into blades. Some are dulled into stubs, and trodden on by animals. Eventually we all end up dead. But sometimes, you come back. Sometimes you're brighter, hotter, more dangerous. Sometimes you're sharper, and there's no stopping the blood loss. I know how to make others cry out in their fear for mother. Never for their fathers, or their uncles. Only mother. Too bad mother isn't here to guide us, mommy can't shelter you forever. We're either dead or alive, unless your a flame. Flames die out when water is thrown. Too bad I'm covered by sharp knives and a glass casing of knowledge.

And one thing is, we all are dead. We're only alive while we're dying, when we realize, there's never a difference.

Someone grabs my hands from behind, and shoves me against a car. Words are uttered that I've only heard once before. Metal rings slide across my arms of fire, my sharpened blade ripped out of my hand.

"You're under arrest for the murders of over a hundred people."