62. sir, sir, get back

He mounted the kerb outside the train station and did not shut off the engine but left it running as he got out of the car and walked towards the sliding entrance doors. It was a small station in a nearby town, built decades earlier but hardly renovated. Large arrival and departure screens hung from the high walls and a few people milled about in the concourse, waiting for friends to arrive, buying snacks from a narrow, cramped store, resting lazily on benches and scrolling through their phone. Aged ticket machines stood against a wall like ancient relics and he bought a ticket to the first destination offered to him and when he slid it into the barrier mechanism the gates flapped open and he walked up a wide flight of concrete stairs and those who passed by could not help but gawp at the state of his face and the bloodstains down his tracksuit but he did not notice nor did he care but instead sat in the middle of a row of metal chairs in a waiting area which was stark and white under the bright strip lights. A smaller display told him that this was platform six and he sat and stared straight ahead and placed his hands in his lap and waited.

A train approached and from his position through a pair of wide glass doors which looked out onto the cold grey platform beyond he saw it slow to a halt and passengers alighted and the doors swept aside with a hiss and they filed through the waiting area towards the exit and glanced at the man who sat bolt upright and looked straight ahead. Other passengers stepped from the dim light of the platform into the warm light of the train and it pulled slowly away again with a whine and the carriages clicked past quicker and quicker as they gradually accelerated like a film reel until with a gasp the last carriage zipped past and once again the platform was quiet and the track was empty.

After ten minutes another train came and went just as the one before it and once again the waiting area filled and emptied like lungs and yet still he sat and he did not move but then over the loudspeaker he heard what he had been waiting for.

The next train approaching platform six does not stop here. Please stand well clear of the platform edge.

Expressionless he stood and walked through the doors and onto the platform. It was cold out here and he looked left and right and on both sides the track disappeared into the night where the light from the canopy above him had been exhausted and within the inky blackness to his left he saw two white headlights glow like the eyes of a monster. He took a step towards the edge of the platform and before him the steel track lay stern and cold and the soft light from the overhead bulbs picked out the detail and angle of every stone in the ballast as it rose and fell between the tracks like waves and he took another step forward and he could sense that one or two people nearby were becoming restless at this sight and he turned his head to the left again and the headlights were approaching steadily. It is a curious thing how something travelling towards you at speed seems to be approaching slowly right up until the last few seconds and a man behind him called mate and he kept his eyes steadfast and continued to look left and the toes of his shoes were now at the edge of the platform and from the corner of his eye he saw someone dressed in uniform start running towards him yelling sir, sir, get back and still the headlights approached but he could hear it now, very softly but he could hear the train as it hurtled along the track and it was too late to brake now and he turned around and a handful of people all gaped at him in horror and one woman had her hand to her mouth and to his right he heard sir, get back and the headlights were beginning to illuminate him now and the train horn was blaring and he toppled backwards.

The train driver would need years of counselling to come to terms with the death of the young gentleman whose body was hit by the train with such force that it broke through the windshield and entered the cab. It was etched into his memory so indelibly that whenever he shut his eyes to sleep or pray he would relive it all again. The passengers on the platform, too, would be scarred by this trauma for years to come, all apart from one woman whose face and clothing were spattered with droplets of blood but simply let her hand fall from her mouth to her side and turned and walked silently through the waiting area and back down the stairs and even in their state of shock those who witnessed this thought it was strange.