KimElliott.net

I was in the City yesterday, checking out a location for work. When we arrived on the scene, there were police everywhere, and meat wagons blocking the road. The guy showing us round the site told us that earlier, a person had jumped to their death, landing on a bus.

The loss of a life, even that of a stranger should be enough to stop people in their tracks, to let them take account of their own lives and offer a moment of silence to the deceased.

For the rest of the day, I thought about the person who’d decided today was a good day to die. I guessed it was a man, most likely a city worker. I wanted to give his memory some of my time, out of respect.

After the meeting I walked back to Soho, wondering just how long it’d be before the papers got hold of the story, in the goriest detail. It wasn’t long.

The Metro went with HORROR AS DEATH PLUNGE WORKER LANDS ON BUS, the Sun followed with SUICIDE BY 80FT LEAP ON BUS and included graphics superimposed on photographs of the scene, plotting the route the man took to his death. The words plunged and smashed appeared a lot, perhaps because the word suicide isn’t allowed yet. Maybe an accident would be easier to cope with.

Even though I hated all these stories, I had to read them. I’d been moved by this stranger’s death and now I had to find out about him, I had to understand why he’d decided to do this.

Less than 48 hours after the incident, the papers could tell you the number of the bus he fell on, the colour of the shirt he was wearing when he died and finally, his name and age.

A few people in a building opposite actually saw him “pause then jump”. I don’t want to go into the details here, but if you feel the need to read, you can here.

I think about the family of the deceased, trying to find some closure and maybe acceptance, reading these articles, and the quotes of passers by as they try and use the most horrific nouns and adjectives in their vocabularies. I don’t know what else to add.