WRITING TWILIGHT: Tyler Dies At The End

Most of my attempts at Twilight Fan Fiction can be read as additions to the book; I've been e-mailing Little Brown about publishing a "Zac Little Remix" edition of Twilight, but no dice so far. This final entry (for book one) therefore takes place after the epilogue of Twilight, at which point Tyler has really run out of reasons to exist. I've lost my patience for this boy. So I'm writing him off.

I loved The West Wing and like everyone else I loathed the character of Mandy, who seemed like a bizarre parody of Gen-X women who we were nonetheless supposed to revere. She was supposed to be so cool, and she was so not cool. After the first season they eliminated her character-- there is no explanation as to where she went and she is never mentioned again. Here's hoping that Tyler goes the way of Mandy.

"Tyler Dies At The End"

Tyler got out of the smoking wreck that was once his car and wandered dazed into the street. He sat down on the yellow dividing line until his head stopped spinning. Several cars swerved by. Some were honking. He couldn’t tell whether they were friendly or angry. He didn’t know how much time passed.

Tyler slowly got to his feet and looked uneasily under his destroyed car. There was a lot of blood and what looked like an arm. “Not again,” he sighed. Tyler knew he’d probably have to go to jail now. He wondered whether it was better to live as a monster or die a good man. He didn’t know the answer.

When the police arrived Tyler was ready. As the cruiser came screeching around the corner he raised his gun and took careful aim. He fired and missed by a good ten yards.

Still a safe distance away Charlie Swan stopped his vehicle and stepped out with his own gun raised. “Put down the weapon, Tyler,” he said sternly. On some level Charlie Swan had known this day would come. The memory of Bella’s near death at Tyler’s hands just weeks earlier hadn’t faded. In fact it had grown stronger in light of more recent trauma.

Charlie wondered if killing was ever justified. He’d been able to see the good in most people; the other cops told him he was too soft. And for years he’d unsuccessfully tried to see the good in Tyler, but this boy was just a dumb fucking asshole with no redeeming qualities whatsoever.

They were alone on the street. If he killed this boy right now would he not be doing the community a service? He could see blood seeping out from under Tyler’s car. Goddamnit.

“TYLER!” Charlie shouted. In response the boy fired at him again. The bullet sunk into a tree about ten feet from the cruiser. “HOLD YOUR FIRE!” Charlie said. Tyler fired again. Charlie couldn’t even be certain that the boy was trying to shoot at him the bullets were so far off the mark. And he couldn’t pull the trigger and kill him. Not yet. He needed more time to consider the moral implications.

Tyler didn’t understand why Charlie wasn’t dead yet. He was sure he'd shot him at least twice. He was getting desperate. Where were all the other cops? He'd wanted to go out in a blaze of glory. He decided he'd have to make his own blaze and take this damn cop out with him.

Charlie watched with mild curiosity as Tyler turned and yanked open the mangled door to his gas tank. Maybe he'd just lie on the police report and say he'd seen Tyler run this person down in cold blood. Put him in jail for a good long time. That was a compromise he could live with.

Tyler pointed the barrel of his gun into the gas tank and thought about what he'd like his last words to be. "Fart," he said out loud, deciding. He pulled the trigger, and then suddenly fell dead to the ground.

Charlie stared, mouth agape, as blood seeped out of Tyler's head.

Tyler had been holding the gun backwards, and the bullet intended for the gas tank had gone straight through his brain.

"What the fuck?" Charlie said.