I wouldn't say that it's my favourite part of writing in creating psychological thrillers, but I certainly get a kick out of the technical challenge of expressing the thoughts of a murder victim as they're dying. If anything, I find this part quite disturbing.
If you've ever watched someone die, you know that they don't always comprehend what's happening to them.
I take inspiration from one of the first crime writers I read avidly as a teenager.
Ed McBain was the pen name of Evan Hunter, when he wrote his police procedural novels set in the 87th Precinct of Isola, a thinly-veiled New York. In one of his early stories called
Ten Plus One, from 1963, a sniper is picking off seemingly unconnected victims. McBain skilfully acquaints us with the victims before they die, creating empathy with them. As they go about their daily business, thinking the things we all do, a bolt from the blue strikes them—the sniper's bullet.
I recall reading about the death of one victim, a businessman leaving a skyscraper queuing to get through the revolving door. I was impressed by how his dying thoughts as he was shot were that he'd tripped and was about to fall against a large plate glass window and worrying would he be hurt? His passing was swift, unexpected by the reader, not realised by him—and all the more shocking for it—more effective than a murder than was set up, where we know what's going to happen.
Excuse me, I'm feeling homicidal...