I’ve found that the best way to write a death scene is to make it saddest when it shouldn’t be. The funeral is rushed, the realization of death isn’t spent too much time on, and the characters mourning is more of a blank space filled with hums and a need for endless nothings.
But then Person A finally gets to be alone and gets to their room and looks at the bed and realizes that it’s suddenly a lot bigger. And they’re too short to reach the blinds to close them, and that was always Person B’s job. And they’ll never fold clothes for someone else again, never need to ask someone to turn off the light, never try to stop them from snoring. And then moving away from it all, trying to forget, holding back tears in the kitchen cradling a cup of tea they realize that Person B will never drink tea with them again. And they’ll never help them reach their mug. And when they drop it to the floor, shattering it into millions of helpless individuals there is no one there to tell them not to move, not to step on the glass, not to cut themselves. That the mug has no worth because it’s worth was in the adventures of cleaning up the pieces and remembering it as it was.
There is no one to stop them from hurting. And there is no one to drink tea.
Tragedy comes in the little things. I just wanted to remind you of that.
“Murphy. Murphy. Untie me. Please.” “I can’t do that. Look, I'm— I’m sorry about your sister—” “You let me go!” “Hey, hey, hey, I can’t, okay? Okay, I can’t, we can’t open that hatch, so stop doing this to yourself before I call medical and knock your ass out!”
So m-my brother and I, we, um… no. You know what…. I called you here because people, um, our people are being slaughtered. And we’re next. The British Men of Letters, they came here because they thought they could do our job better than we could. They hooked us with their flashy gear and their tech- most of you had the good sense to turn them down. I didn’t. They said they wanted the same thing we wanted, you know, a world free of monsters. That’s not what they really wanted. They want control. They want to live in a world where they get to sit in some office and decide who gets to live and who gets to die. And they’ve killed people. They’ve killed innocent people just because they got in the way. They think the ends justifies the means, but we know better. We know hunting isn’t always about killing, It’s about doing what’s right. Even when it’s hard. So we go by our gut, right? We play by our own rules, and that scares them. That’s why they want us dead. I want you to follow me.