Having experienced this most recently both on TV and in a book, I can say there are MANY fictional deaths which i had to walk away from, that i cried over and that i still think about. Characters that enthralled and delighted me taken from me before i can even finish their story.
My Top 5 (most recent) Fictional Deaths I still havent recovered from
She spun over onto her back and prepared to jumped to her feet. They stared at each other in stunned silence. He was young and slight with dark hair that fell in front of his eyes. No more than 15 with all the typical teenager bravado and style. He had emerged from the closet in the shadowed corner of the room. His dark eyes flickered to the view across the street and her eyes fell to the gun in his hand. She took the chance to bolt for the door. She threw herself out into the hallway just as she felt him grab the hem of her dress. She kicked backwards.
“Stop,” His hushed tone came through gritted teeth. She made contact with him and scrambled forward but he held tight. The quiet click of the safety coming off echoed through the narrow hall. She froze as she felt the gun press against her hip. “I said ‘Stop.’”
Out front the screaming continued; covering the sounds of their own struggle. She pleaded in silence for her life. Who could know what this boy wanted, or how he’d survived this long. Worse than that, he could turn her out and take her axe. Maybe she knew this boy, maybe she could plead with him or maybe she should just take the gun now.
She couldn’t bring herself to strike him. He was really no more than a child.
His shoulders slumped, he released his hold on her and relaxed the pressure of his gun on her hip. He sighed and barely whispered, “Now come with me. Quick.”
The last thing she had expected was to find herself following this boy up a ladder into the attic. What choice did she have while those things were so close. He gestured for silence as he pulled the ladder up and closed the door in the floor. She couldn’t take her eyes off the gun in his hand. He shook his head at her and crawled across the plywood boards to the front of the house. The attic was a comfortable size but littered with blankets, food waste and dirty clothing. It was clear he’d been up here since it had began. She watched him peering between the louvered vents.
Suddenly the screaming stopped. He looked over his shoulder at her, “You can’t stay here.”
She tore through the hedge and across the yard, barely managing to stay upright, stumbling on the uneven ground. Her heart was pounding. She couldn’t hear if they were following her over the sound of the blood rushing in her ears and her own labored breath. She ran up the middle of the road and turned abruptly, cutting between two tightly packed suburban bungalows. Quickly looking behind her, she slid into the side door of the house to her right. She stood perfectly still in a mudroom littered with garden tools and dirty boots, waiting for a noise to indicate if they have followed, if they were inside this house too, if there was anyone else here.
The house appeared empty, neglected and a little musty, but not raided. There was a staircase that lead to the upper floor to her left. She tip-toed up, avoiding the centre of the staircase, even a creak might bring them in after her. A dark center hall with 5 closed doors faced her at the top. She went towards the front of the house across the blue lush 70s carpeting, opened the main bedroom door, and fell to the floor. The front window was huge and the curtains stood wide open. Crawling across the floor to peer over the window frame, she was muttering a prayer that they hadn’t bothered to follow her. She saw only the still bodies and empty streets.
There was movement in the house across the street. Frozen in horror, she watched curtains and furniture being tossed around, until the screaming began.
The floor creaked behind her. Her heart leapt to her throat. Crouching on the floor, holding her breath and tightening her grip on the ax. She wouldn’t end like this. Not in this neglected 70s two storey, just up the street from her own home. Not without knowing if her own family were still alive. Not at the hands or teeth of one of those…..But how could she escape?
“What’s with the dress?”