Now, I should mention that this story is my first Creepypasta story specifically written to be a Creepypasta story. "Amara", my first one, was originally for school a while ago. Yeah, seriously, I write a poem for school and it's considered a great story. Some people write stories and such specifically to be a Creepypasta, and they suck. Weird.
Anyway, this story wasn't originally going to be my first second person story. That honor went to something I was planning to call "Submit", which was basically from the point of view of some person saying not so nice things about a government, and being tortured and brainwashed to be a good little citizen. However, as I was writing it, I realized I was making the main character too much of a smartass to be relatable, and that I would eventually have to give the character's name. (The main character is being tortured by a government. They'd probably engage in threats and such against the main character's family, and address him/her by name) So, I scrapped that, and came up with a new idea: the story of a person in the zombie apocalypse who's stuck in a room and debating suicide. How it ends, however, is supposed to be left vague and unknown. That story evolved into "The Decision."
So, let's contemplate suicide and Riff this bitch!
You sit in a room, your only company a gun on the floor next to you.
(Narrator): You realize that you’re pretty lonely if your only company is a gun. Seriously, go out and make some friends.
The door’s blocked off, but you know it won’t last for long.
You hear them, on the other side of the door, moaning and scraping.
(Narrator): The Jehovah’s Witnesses really want to talk to you about Jesus.
You look at the gun, and remember what you had to do, who you had to kill to survive for this long. (No, not who. What. Those…things…weren’t your friends, weren’t your family, wasn’t the one you loved. They might have had their faces, but they didn’t have their souls. Right?
(Narrator): I don’t know. I’m the Narrator.
) Was it worth it, you wonder. You’re probably going to die soon, anyway. There’s probably an army at that door, and it won’t hold forever. And even if it did, those things won’t go away. You’re stuck here until you starve to death. What a terrible and undignified way to die. And having those things come in and eat you is no better. Hell, it’s probably worse.
There’s an easy way out though.
(Narrator): The escape route.
The gun can provide a quick and clean death. No pain.
Just one shot.
That’s what my doctor tells me when I have to get a flu shot.
On the other hand, you can probably kill a few of those creatures, maybe enough to make an escape, and live another day. But is it worth it? Is it really worth running and fighting and killing to hang on to one day, to see one more sunset? Is your life really worth living, when everyone you know and love, everyone who made your life worthwhile, is dead, by your hand?
As long as there are comics, yes.
Sure, you tell yourself that those weren’t your loved ones. You tell yourself that to help you sleep at night, even though you know, deep down, that those were your loved ones you gunned down. You know, damn it, you know.
(Narrator): You know the Krabby Patty secret formula!
So the question is, do you deserve to live after killing them? Do you even want to live?
Well, here’s a better question: if you die now, won’t all those murders be in vain? Don’t you owe it to them to live? Don’t you owe it to them to make sure that their deaths weren’t for naught? So what if you’ve done bad things? If you die, you can’t atone for them now, can you?
Spider-Man tells himself that every day.
So the question still remains:
Do you live?
Or do you die?
Live or die or live or die or live or die or live or die or live or die or live of die or live or…
(Narrator): Build a snowman.
“I don’t know!” you scream. The scratching at the door stops, as if the creatures on the other side are taken aback by the display of naked emotion. This only lasts for a second, as the creatures now try harder to get in.
Imagine if the creatures are the aliens from “Signs.” I can imagine this happening:
(Alien): Damn! Wood!
(Please don’t sue me, Nostalgia Critic)
Meanwhile, you continue looking at the gun, and wonder if you should shoot them or yourself. It’s a hard choice, but you have to make it.
The door breaks down, those things come in, and you know you have to decide now. You pick up the gun, aim it, mutter a quick prayer, and fire.
(Narrator): What happens next? YOU DECIDE!
I've been told that this story isn't very bad. It was given an 8.5 or 9/10 by AGrimAuxiliatrix1, and she's someone who's rather talented at judging Creepypasta stories. So I trust her judgement. I also personally think this story is pretty good. Granted, I may be a tad biased, but oh well. At the very least, the spelling and grammar is good, which is more than I can say about a lot of other stories I've read.
I hope, dear reader, that you understand why I changed the name now. If not, allow me to elaborate. "The Final Decision" implies that whatever decision is being made is the main character's final one. That makes it seem more like suicide. However, "The Decision" just implies that there's a decision to be made. What kind of decision? Take a guess. I don't know, and even if I did, I'm not telling. Let the ending be vague and unknown. That's the point.
Anyway, what do you guys think? Is the story good? Is the Riff good? Do you wish I'd commit suicide? Leave your thoughts in the comments below.