Death by gorilla.

Murderer eyes, sharpened teeth, arms bigger than legs, leather-looking hands gripping your arms and breaking them easily. Dying old, young, alone, or slowly in pain are nothing compared to being ripped apart by a gorilla. The key word here is horrific. While the other demises are sad and even horrifyingly sad, nothing is more horrific than the approach, foreign feel, lift, eye contact and first pulse of pain that overrides the fear of death by gorilla. You can't outrun him, you can't out-think him in close proximity. Being dropped down or somehow face to face with a pissed off gorilla, even in the same room or ground, the fear of that alone, then the pain of being pulled apart like you were made of nothing. The hard reality of his strength ending yours. Hearing your tissues and cartilage ripped, your bones snapped, limbs torn away but near you, while your head is twisted off and your brain is still functioning, while you look down at his face: he's holding your head up over his and screaming in anger still, not even close to satisfied, and the last thought before you go is him squeezing your head to a bloody pop and then ripping apart what's left of you.