The dark story behind our intern's smile
We're a cruel and boring bunch of idiots and the other day we were boringly and cruelly teasing our intern about getting kicked out of college for putting vodka in the punch at the prom. Then she told us the real reason that she was kicked out and now we're not taking the piss anymore.
Our intern's story:
It was around noon on March the ninth 2007, and my boyfriend and I were running late. As we left the house he stopped for a second and in a cheesy teen horror flick manner said he had a “bad feeling” about the day.
We missed our train and the next one was delayed for an hour. Since we couldn’t do anything about Network Rail, we decided that just sitting on the platform in the sun was the best idea. Platform three was so bright we couldn’t see a thing.
The sun went behind a cloud at the same time they announced a train would soon be passing through. I looked at the clock on platform two; it was 2:20pm. I could see a shadowed spot in my eye-line that my boyfriend was staring at. There was a man sitting on the side of the platform, his legs over the edge, swinging them in a very nonchalant manner. Just as the announcement finished, he turned, put his hands on the platform and pushed himself off.
He was dressed in all blue, with brown boots, I think we both assumed he worked for the rail company until we realised he wasn’t crossing the tracks, he was just waiting there. My boyfriend yelled at him, “What the fuck are you doing!?” But the guy was totally calm, he turned to face us and braced himself, clenching his fists and smiling. It wasn't a nervous smile, it was a giant toothy one. He looked excited. My boyfriend registered what was going on, grabbed my hand and tried to run off pulling me behind, but I’d frozen and he lost his grip. I tried to shout “He’s committing suicide!” but I couldn’t.
The guy bent his knees slightly, the train breaks sounded, but it still charged through him. The noise was horrendous. Apparently it was so loud the station clerks thought the train had derailed.
The step in the middle of the first carriage cut him in half, the grill decapitated him, and his bottom half was pulled under by the wheels and cut into pieces. As the train slowed his top half fell under, then his head. There was blood all over the line and body parts scattered everywhere.
Only four people had seen and we were all silent. Everyone else ran up onto the bridge to see the entrails along the London line.
Me and my boyfriend ran back to mine to hide, but my sister drove us straight back to the station. Apparently all rail fatalities are considered possible murders until they’ve spoken to the witnesses, so we had to wait to be questioned. As we sat on a bench, I could see a fireman picking up the man’s hip.
The next few weeks were spent basically sleepless and paranoid. I avoided mirrors, windows and rooms I couldn’t see into. Two stints in the Priory for PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) later and there was still no improvement. I was going mad. As a last resort I went back to Priory for the 3rd time. The only options left were weird secretive experimental Clockwork Orange style treatments.
Don’t ask me what EMDR means, I couldn’t tell you. All I know is I had to sit in a white room with a board of blue lights in front of me and two shock pads in my hands. I had to go over the event in extreme detail, every time I got upset there was a small vibrating shock and every time I couldn’t remember the next part of the story the blue lights would start going back and forth along the board. It was bizarre, but I started to remember things about my life I’d forgotten years before.
Three sessions and a lot of sleeping pills later, I was finally getting back to normal. Unfortunately I didn’t take Colchester Institutes' opinion into account. My rehab appointments were on Monday mornings and this meant missing part of my photography lesson. Apparently this really drove them mad (though they didn't tell me) and the Friday before I started my second year, I was told, “You didn’t attend enough, sorry we can’t let you through.”
I explained what had happened, why I’d missed some photography classes on a Monday and they didn’t believe me. But when I brought in the police reports and the rehab bills and they were even less pleased. They decided it wouldn’t look great if they had someone at the college who was at rehab (I wasn’t, I’d finished) and they wanted me to leave. So that was it, I was out of college all because some guy threw himself under a train in front of me.
Eventually I found out his story:
The guy was a train-buff who used to have some high-powered job, but eventually making important decisions everyday drove him to a mental breakdown. He was sectioned in a mental facility in Suffolk for a few months and he completely lost his ability to make any decisions. It was so bad that if you put a can of 7up and a can of Coke in front of him and told him to choose, he couldn’t, he’d get worked up, cry and freak out.
This didn’t get any better when he was released. On 7th March his fridge broke and the thought of having to choose a new one was just too much for him. So, instead of just going to Curry’s and getting one of the staff to pick one, he spent the next two days travelling around the stations on the mainline to London, noting down when each through train came through.
I have to ask the question though, if it's too much for you to pick a fridge, shouldn’t choosing your death spot from all the stations on a train line be completely impossible? Apparently not as finally he picked the station in my hometown, and had apparently been sitting there all day waiting for the right time.
So, long story short, it was a broken Bosch fridge (I checked) that stopped me from pursuing education and now I have to make the tea at VICE. Fuck you Bosch.