As I write this, I am faced with the unthinkable: I have to kill someone. Make that a couple of someones. I don’t want to do it, but my hand is being forced.
I’m talking about fictional characters here. I hope that is obvious. Still, even pretend people are hard to murder when you’ve grown attached to them. In Alien Salvation, the death of Aaron McInness, Lindsey and Jessica’s father, was an awful thing to go through. I hated killing him with all my heart and soul.
Even minor characters can make themselves grief-worthy. Dramok Amgar from Alien Refuge only appeared for a few pages, yet I can’t think of him dying while heroically saving his adopted children without an ache in my chest. Several readers have also told me they were affected by it.
It’s tough to kill those I love. Yet here I am, on the verge of doing so again.
One is someone you know and many of you care about. I think I always knew I’d have to face this character’s demise at some point down the road. It’s sad to let someone like this go, but the time has come. I’m trying to be brave as I face saying goodbye, but it isn’t easy. You’ll probably not be too happy to see it come to this either.
The second victim is someone you haven’t met through my writings yet. I’ve met him however, and I don’t want him to go. It doesn’t matter that I may have a long time with him and his end might not come for awhile. Even with it potentially being way in the future, I have seen his death and I am already grieving. I am already begging him not to leave us like that. My only solace is that I might still have time to thwart that bastard of a muse of mine who insists this is the way it must be. Maybe a better storyline will arrive in the nick of time, allowing me to pull my newest beloved out of the way of death’s forbidding grip. Hope with me, because I really think you will absolutely hate me if this guy dies on us. Some things are unforgivable.
Damn these stories that insist on having their way. I know better than to fight what must be, but it’s so hard to give in to the inevitable sometimes. The worst part of it all is that I’m the writer. I should be in control of this ride...right? Unfortunately, that’s not how it works out. If I assert my will and go against what the story wants, I end up with a steaming pile of shit. That’s how it’s always gone. I can write well and have our hearts broken; or I can write something else, save us all from tears, and have the story broken. There is no middle ground, no compromise that will keep it from being one or the other. We are screwed.
When all is revealed and you learn who has passed on, remember I am sitting next to you at the funeral crying as well. Yes, I am the one who killed them. Their blood is on my hands. However, I am only the instrument of their destiny, and that vicious bitch Fate wielded me with no mercy.
The killer laments too.