I wonder if I can do this.
At the end of the day, when all is said and done, sooner or later, ultimately and in the long run, all things come to an end: youth, our school days, relationships, holidays, books and, indeed, life itself. We writers may well choose characters who we need to bump off at some point, and we may need to describe it accurately, fully and in a mood appropriate to the story. Sometimes famous last words can add a touch of lightness to an event which does not usually have a happy ending. We may doubt the accuracy of some of these "last" words, but, they can make us smile!
For example, during the American civil war (1861-1865) Major-General John Sedgwick made an unfortunate claim just before dying. This occurred as he was deploying his men to face the enemy, with Confederate snipers hindering their preparations. I do think that his statement, "They couldn't hit an elephant at this distance" does sound a bit contrived, but they are, apparently, precisely what he said just before being shot. Whether they were his precise words or not is, apparently, debatable but they sound good, don't they?
Furthermore, most people will never have the opportunity to say what Max Baer (heavyweight boxer) reputedly said. He died in a hotel room, after calling the Front Desk and asking for a doctor. The concierge told him, “I will send up the hotel doctor.” Apparently, Max Baer's last words were: “I believe I need a people doctor, not a hotel doctor.”
And what of the idea that a person's life is replayed before his/her eyes, dreamed into existence before the final curtain? And you, at the expiring person's bedside, might watch the fluttering eyes and hear random words that tie you to some event in the individual's failing life. He/she might even make a confession and effectively activate the plot of your next book!
And think of this. Imagine you have been sentenced to death by lethal injection. Few people know when there are only a few minutes left in their lives. But you, sitting on death row, know when you will breathe your last, sometimes to the exact minute. Imagine that instead of being the victim, you are a witness to the execution itself. You see the warden give his signal and watch as the execution team inject lethal doses of two or three drugs into the victim. Apparently, death occurs anywhere from 5 to 18 minutes after the execution order is given. You watch the condemned man stare at the ceiling and, at the last moment, you see a tear emerge from the corner of his/her eye and roll down the cheek. Remorse perhaps? Certainly, the tear could be the spark that starts your story: after all, that superb film, Citizen Kane, starts with Kane uttering his last word: "Rosebud." This scene always sends a shiver down my spine.
I began this blog by asking the question, "I wonder if I can do this." Well, the answer is, "Yes, I just did it." That is, I managed to talk about departure from this world without mentioning the "d" word! Writers are often required to write about things of which they have no direct experience. Departure from this world is one of them. Being shot is another - at least in my case! I needed to do considerable research to find out what "being shot" felt like! The result of my research is in the following extract from Whispers in the Hearts of Men. The protagonist, Richard Chambers, is shielded by the actions of his old friend, Khalid (Mr Friendly). But only one of them comes out alive.
Mr Friendly was pulling at Richard’s shirt, ripping it open and fumbling. And in that instant, the weight on Richard’s chest was lifted, and he took, as if for the first time, a breath of cleansing air. Mr Friendly was then standing over him with Richard’s bomb belt in his hand. There was more shouting, more footsteps and the sound of automatic gunfire. Mr Friendly stepped away from Richard and raised the belt into the air. There was more gunfire and Mr Friendly waved his hand in front of his face as though to brush away flies. He staggered. Something red exploded from his shoulder, his chest and stomach. He fell backwards and lay on his back with his legs extended and with one arm coiled around his neck. A hollow flapping sound came from the area of his chest and a pinkish foam was coming from his mouth while he gasped for air. Richard sprang to his feet. What was going on? Why was Mr Friendly lying here? He bent over to pick up the bomb belt. He had every intention of throwing it as far as he could but a strident command from behind stopped him. He turned round. What was going on? There was a line of kneeling soldiers. Their guns were raised and pointing at him.
He saw Abu Salim raise his revolver. He saw a flash, saw the gun jerk sideways, the smoke curling out of the barrel. He heard nothing. The bullet must have missed because he was still standing. But he was somehow rooted to the spot and incapable of moving a finger. He was feeling like a fool and wondering what everyone would think of him when he thought he had been struck by lightning and he began to vibrate from head to toe. Then he saw a bright light over him and the golden dome of a mosque rising from behind the city wall. It was topped with a crescent and it glinted in the sun. Richard reflected that it was the same sun that had warmed him thirty-five years earlier, but this time it was different. He was lying on his back and could not move. He saw the white city walls through the glass and he saw that the walls were confusing him with memories of similar walls, and the memories were clouded by the ghosts of people he had once known.
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