The Tube

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When asked for my account this is what I told the police;

 

It was a normal Tuesday half past six scene.  

The tube was busy, packed with people heading home after a hard day’s work. I was just like everyone else, a zombie sheep, standing still, eyes half closed and stifling yawns. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see people pushing though the turn stile and trying to squeeze on to the platform. 

Voices talking and shouting were echoing off the tiled wall and down into the black tunnel. A baby was crying somewhere and the long haired youth next to me had his music so loud, I could hear the Iron Maiden song he was listening to. It was Powerslave, if you need to know.

The sounds of a train approaching vibrated through everything, arousing us. Eyes turned to check the flashing board and people tried to move forward. I was forced to step over the white line. Hearing a shout louder than the others made me turn. I’m not sure why. I couldn’t make out what was said.

I saw her then, a blur in a blue dress and brown hair. She was running, forcing her way through people two feet away from me. As she did so, there was a ripple effect on either side. People bumped into each other, muttered apologies and then turned to the actual culprit. I’m not sure how she got through.

The train whipped past me and she jumped in front of it.

You know in the movies when they have that slow motion thing? Nothing like that happened, in fact it was the complete opposite. Chaos spring up and the next half a minute happened so fast. People were screaming and yelling. There was a surge of bodies. The train had stopped and the driver had gotten out. A man jumped down onto the tracks. People said ‘be careful the track’s still alive.’ ‘She’s dead,’ he cried back.

There was a flurry of suggestions. People wanted her to be moved, others’ didn’t, the police were needed, so was an ambulance, London Underground services had to be connected and people had to find other ways to get home. A man wearing casual clothes fought his way through and tried to get to her. He was held back by a group of people. He was yelling ‘Cassy, Cassy. Let me go. She’s dead? No!’

The party holding back the man who knew her, tried to get him to leave, but he wouldn’t. He broke down and sat on the platform. We stood around, unsure what do and talking in low voices. A few people started to leave as the officials arrived. The long haired youth stared at me and I stared back at him. A minute ago we had all been strangers, but now we’d been thrown into this tragedy and it would connect us for a long time.