The border

There is a difference between telling a story and writing story. When you write a story, you can always go back and erase what you have written. You can look at a perspective and twist it in a sense that is logical to your warped imagination. But how many, when they write, actually know what they're writing? You throw a character that you have created into this world that simply makes their short lives plain miserable. You have to...otherwise the story wouldn't be as exciting. The suffering and the hardships that your characters go through, the burdens they carry, are all for enjoyment. When phrased like that, I guess in some way I'm making the writer seem like a bad person. Don't misunderstand me, as I am a writer myself. Many times, my characters have gone through hell. A little hypocritical am I? I suppose in one way I am. Yet, through the middle, I stop writing. It becomes too much. To me it's as if I'm orchestrating someone's death. Except, this isn't real. I'm feeling empathy for a character. That's when writing becomes dangerous and frightening. You feel, somewhere in your heart, guilt and remorse. Why does this character have to die? Why must this happen? An inner voice asks you all the time. You don't know. You can't know. What your brain creates is uncontrollable, illogical. Mere words can't explain the depth of the imagination.
When the border between fantasy and reality collide, an inner battle is waged. Your mind urges you to continue, pleads with you to continue the story. Your heart, however, begs you to spare your characters. Let them live one more day...one more day turns to months, which turns to years, which eventually never comes. How do you stop this madness? How do you turn away and write without knowing? How?