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

1. Matthew – i sat in shock for like 10 minutes crying (DA)
2. Wash. – “i am a leaf on the wind” (Serenity)
3. The Red Wedding – Storm of Swords by George RR Martin
4. Sophia – The Walking Dead
5. Henry – The Time Traveller’s Wife (book not movie)

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Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

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.”

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Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

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?”

Hungry Policemen by Kristi McMurry

Modigliani

Liz Russell - Clusters

Shadow Origami

they inspire me to do this

thanks to Sarah Knight for the addition of her butterfly & bunny prints

Squirrel t-shirt – Caustic Threads

iPad envelope – FernFiddlehead

Lime Knit Purse – Hilary’s Hats

Blue Tangled Wire Earrings & Rainbow Cuff – Clone Hardware

Silence surrounded her. She was afraid to even breathe. They had to have heard her.

She hadn’t been this noisy, this stupid, since opening her eyes on the barn wood floor of the gallery to a pool of her own blood. It glinted with tiny shards of her broken wine glass in the bright sunlight streaming through the window behind her. The glass had cut her face open across the cheek. The pain was sharp. But the view she’d opened her eyes to had horrified her. She’d registered the screaming but not that it was her own. She crawled back, away from the bodies in front of her, falling over the cold, bloodied bodies of her friends, until she reached the huge window across the front of the gallery. Her head had struck the window hard, making a resounding noise that echoed through the building, cutting off the scream in her throat. She immediately saw a shadow above her. By then the tears streaming down her face were stinging the raw wounds and the shaking had started. She nearly couldn’t turn to see who was behind her. Thinking of that terrifying moment now, she wished she hadn’t.

There had not been another sound in what seemed like an eternity. As quietly as she could she progressed to the bedroom, careful not to look too closely as she passed the doors with her children’s names and artwork or to remember their sweet smiling faces. Quickly and silently she scooped up clothing that was scattered on the floor, socks, pants, a shirt and a sweater.

A sudden crashing at the front of the house sent her flying to close the bedroom door. She threw her back against it and raised the axe.  The clothes fell from her arms as she slammed her bloodied feet into the boots, stuffing the socks down the front off her dress.

“Fuck…” The wall above her bed was covered in graffiti. Her husband’s words, written in pink dripping paint, spoke to her.

“We are alive. Don’t give up. We are hiding at…..”  Blood smeared the last word. The window was her only chance. In three bounding steps she crashed across the room and threw open the window. It wasnt a long drop but the inch long thorns on the Red Barberry  below were hardly an ideal landing spot. The pink dress tore as the thorns punctured her skin. She swung the axe wildly and pulled herself free. Looking back as she turned to run through the cedar hedge across the back of the yard she only glimpsed a shadow before hitting breakneck speed.

The glossy, boutique shoe store had been busy and completely out of the norm for her to shop in. Bustling with unnaturally smooth, grey haired ladies in furs and stylish young girls slathered in makeup and spray tan, she had been all but ignored by the staff. Somehow she had managed to escape with the perfect shoes for the gallery show. Black patent, pink bottoms, stiletto heels. She didn’t know how she would manage a whole night on her feet in them.

She grimaced, sliding them off. It had been days with them on. Her feet had long ago stopped hurting and were merely numb. She could feel the sticky blood filling the toe of the patent high heel but the pain they’d caused was forgotten. Despite running, hiding and climbing through bodies, these absurd shoes had held up. Looking at them now she realised her feet were in worse shape than the rest of her. Broken and blooded.

Reaching to the back of the hall closet she pulled out the black work boots she used for gardening. 7-hole steel-toe army parade boots, well-worn, unpolished.

She kept her head down heading for the bathroom. She didn’t acknowledge the blood smears on the walls or the rooms she passed in disarray. The bathroom was in no better condition. The cabinet had been torn from the wall, its contents thrown around the small room. There was a partially used bottle of rubbing alcohol in the tub along with high water ring of blood and dirt.

She sat with her feet in the tub pouring the remainder of the bottle over them. Wincing, she used a corner of the satin dress to wipe them clean.

“Socks. Damn.” When had she started talking to herself out loud? She stood, not wanting to face another room. Especially the room she had shared for 10 years with her husband.

A rustling sound from outside. She froze in the hallway outside the bathroom.

She’d made too much noise breaking the glass door.

They’d found her.

Part 1

Part 2

They werent all dead. She wasnt alone.

It was so easy to wish this was a nightmare she would soon wake from. That the blood that covered her dress and the axe wasnt anymore real than the diamonds on her wrist. Her mind refused to accept the things she had seen and done in the hours and days since the gallery.

She turned back to the house and headed up the drive. Her body remained tensed, axe ready at her side. She hadnt imagined the scream but she didnt hope to find her family waiting inside. The door would be locked, the windows were closed and still in one piece.  She only hoped to find a place to rest and gather herself. Refusing to accept that this was the end, that she was the only living person left, kept her moving forward.

“Focus,” she groaned.

Shoes, boots really, were the priority. Then she would decide what to do next.

She dragged her sore and bloodied feet into the backyard and up the rear steps. The axe, again her only saviour, smashed the glass door and she reached through to unlock the door to her kitchen. She paused and shook herself at the familiarity of this moment. Should she call out? Would it only bring others?

She surveyed the cans, boxes and overturned fridge littering the floor. The house had been raided. She steppped inside and pushed through the piles on the floor, heading straight for the front closet and her boots.

She knew none of it mattered now. Not the dress, not the diamonds, not these completely inappropriate shoes. The axe was all that mattered.

It had been days since she’d seen another living person. Wandering with the only weapon she had and this ridiculous pink satin dress that was stained with her own sweat, blood and tears. Somehow she’d managed to find a way home, in a daze, fighting throught the tears that clouded her vision and the past the bodies the filled the streets.  Now, standing in the yard of the home she’s once shared with her family, her husband, her children, she stood paralyzed with fear.

The night of the opening in that tiny gallery she’d surrounded by those she loved, feeling honoured and scared. It seemed like another life, another world. Not the one she had woken up to. It had all happened so suddenly. Her mind raced over the details of the show, her art hanging perfectly lit while being observed by critics and friends and other artists, the clink of glasses, the click of high heels, a warm hand on her elbow leading her around the gallery. She smiled.

A scream pierced her memory and brought her back to the reality she must now face….

She spun around ready to fight, raising the axe, tensing every muscle.

Nothing.

The still bodies of her neighbours littered the driveways and sidewalks in their night gowns and pajama bottoms. Why had they run out into the street? Had there been a warning they hadnt heard in the gallery? She could feel the heels of her shoes sinking slowly into the slowly thawing spring grass and mud.

part 2…

POW headband – Janine Basil

Marvel Bra – Megan Elizabeth

Do Epic Shit Travel Cozy – KnotworkShop

Superhero Mask – Ravenwood Masks

Red Resistor Earrings – Clone Hardware