Magnus
I was 7 when my family aquired its first cat. Jet black, with big, bright yellow eyes, name of Magnus. After Magnus Magnusson. Because he was so intelligent.

And he was a character. Only a few months old when we got him, but full of personality. The friendliest, softest cat you've ever met. Would greet you at the bottom of the stairs every morning - he knew he wasn't allowed upstairs, you see.

The biggest surprise was how my Dad took to him. My Dad has never been a cat person - I seem to remember he had to be pleaded with just to get a cat in the first place. But Magnus soon changed all that. It wasn't long before my Dad's nightly ritual involved sitting in front of the TV, alone, Magnus curled up fast asleep on his lap. He loved that little guy - they had a relationship that was all their own.

One day I came home from school. Magnus wasn't there. No-one had seen him since that morning. Unusual, but no real cause for alarm.

Until the knock on the door. We were sat around the table eating dinner (I remember this as if it happened last week). It was a neighbour at the door . . . she had "found something. Probably best not to talk in front of the children. I'm very sorry, but . . .", and there he was. Magnus. In a little cardboard box, eyes closed and still - oh so very still.

I was inconsolable. My brother, being a few years younger didn't really understand what was going on, but I did. It turns out that the neighbour had found Magnus tangled up in a bush. He was confused, and his legs were broken. He slipped away in front of her. Maybe a car ran over him, maybe he was sleeping under it and it pulled away without him realising. I don't know. But I'd like to think that as he died, alone and confused, he knew he had a family that loved him dearly.

My Dad buried him in the back garden that night. I'll never forget it. My Dad, a man not known for showing his feelings, a man who has never told me he loves me, a man who keeps his emotions bottled up inside him - he wept as he buried his little night-time companion.

I'll never forget how still Magnus was, lying in that box. I'll never forget how his fur was still so soft when I stroked him, and how peaceful he looked. I'll never forget any of that. Taught me a lot, that did. Death comes to us all - it's not pretty, and it hurts, but the hurt fades and the heart heals. But the pain and the loss and, most of all, the image of my Dad, my strong, silent, emotionless Dad, weeping uncontrolably as he placed his little friend into the ground - those things will never leave me.
(MrC. Having the most boring username on b3ta since 2004, Mon 3 Mar 2008, 18:46, 6 replies)

A few
when I lived in Brazil.

1. Walking home from work I passed the scene of a recent shooting - there wasn't much left as the police had cleared away the body, but there was a fan shaped splatter of blood and brain etc on the ground.

2. An elderly black tramp lying dead under a table at which three white Brazilian girls were happily eating hamburgers. One had her foot on his hand.

3. Once we decided to go to the Hippodromo (the horse racing track) in Rio. We walked up the street from where we lived and passed a kid of about 19 or 20 lying absolutely rigid on the ground. Two policemen were standing nearby laughing, smoking, and chatting. When we walked home 6 hours later he was still there in exactly the same position.

4. And the worst, there was a mother who lived in the doorway of a cobblers shop fairly near to where we lived. She had 5 (I think) children, between 3 and 11, one of whom was this incredibly sweet 6 year old girl who would hawk chewing gum and tissues around the local bars and restaurants. We used to buy extra bread, fruit and milk and give it to them, but one day I was walking back home a different way from the local supermarket with my mum and we came across a small knot of people gathered around the body of the little girl. Someone had cut her throat from ear to ear and stolen her takings from the night before. It can't have been more than 15 or 20 reals (maybe £5 at most). Brazil can be one sick, sick, country. We went home, my mother was crying uncontrollably and I've never felt so sick in my life.

5. Saw a car accident from a cafe in Cordoba, Argentina. This guy was driving way too fast and crashed into a car waiting at a red light. He got out of his crumpled car and I swear part of his skull was missing. The whole side of his head was just running red. He took about 3 steps and collapsed.

The worst one was the little girl. To be honest you kind of got used to seeing bodies on the street in Rio that may or may not have been dead or drugged up... but seeing that girl with a cut throat... that was nasty.
(Zapiola zip-zap-zop, Mon 3 Mar 2008, 17:42, Reply)

The only bodies I've seen
Have been brought in by cats.

My previous cat once murdered a weasel and left it on the patio. She sauntered in covered in weasel juice from head to toe.

Still, she made up for it by bringing a live mouse INTO the house the next week. He escaped justice for three days before we trapped him and released him far, far away.

She never brought in a human body, though. Not that we found, anyway. *checks behind sofa*
(pharmatron Death or Scunthorpe? CHOOSE!!, Mon 3 Mar 2008, 17:15, Reply)

I've heard of
an old dj who may have seen some in Jersey years ago. Allegedly.
(Bear Pookie The Frankly Challenged. Halloween is coming to town., Mon 3 Mar 2008, 17:07, 1 reply)

How did I feel?
I've seen quite a few dead bodies in my time, three notable ones affected me in different ways. So B3TANS, strap in while the Captain bares his soul.
My father was an unusual man. A Burma veteran and the most physically dangerous man I have ever met, trained to kill by some of the best in the business. Very hard to reconcile that knowledge with the man who taught me to ride a bike, introduced me to the joys of reading and taught me chess. He was a philosopher who had seen (and done) far too much of the savagery that man inflicts on his fellow men.
He was diagnosed with a left occiputal astrocytoma which was removed as a measure to give him a little more "life". The surgery removed the part of the brain that turned sight the "right way up" yet he managed to write again and even play chess. The last weeks of his life were spent in a semi-coma on a heroin pump, the regrown cancer pressing on the pain centres of his brain. The last time I saw him alive he was unconscious in a hospital bed, face contorted in agony, painkilling drips into every major vein in an attempt to relieve him of the pain. It wasn't working. The doctor told me that he was on the absolute limit of the painkiller and if anyone turned the drips up, he'd be dead "in minutes". The doctor then left.
The peace that came over my dad's face as he died was a relief to everyone. It would be illegal to allow a dog to suffer as hard and as long as my dad suffered and the end was as peaceful as some of his life had been violent.
RIP Dad.
My mother was, well not much of a "Mum" to me. One of my earliest memories is of her introducing me as " our Jamie, he was a mistake you know". Thanks.
She fell into a diabetic coma, was rushed to hospital and was stabilised as fast as possible. She then contracted MRSA. It ravaged her. This was only months after my Father had died and I suppose I resented a lot of the stuff my Mother had done while he was dying (I could write it all down but no-one would believe me. I even doubt some of it myself until I check with my siblings).
Push then came to shove. I collared her consultant and asked what her chances were. She had developed gangrene in both feet and one hand, her left lung was all-but gone, the right one was barely enough to keep her alive and she had severe brain damage.
I signed the DNR.
She died one afternoon while I was home, a rare occurrence while she'd been ill, I'd only left the hospital 30-odd minutes before. When I saw her dead I felt nothing, I'd not expected her to survive. I find it hard to remember the good bits when I think of her.
Tom Moss was my Sensei at Aikido for 13 years. He was probably the best martial artist I have ever met or seen. He was also a thoroughly nice guy with time for everyone and a selfless attitude. He was a man who, to paraphrase a line in "As good as it gets", made you "want to be a better person". He died from pulmonary sclerosis, a horrifically cruel way to die. Your lungs lose the capacity to expand and you basically suffocate to death. Truly ironic for a man who would teach and train longer and harder than men half his age, drink the sun up and then go do it all again. An inspirational human being. I saw him in the chapel of rest, dressed in Gi and Hakama, bloated from the steroids, bruised from needles yet still the same guy who'd turned the fear of falling into the joy of flying whilst training me. I miss him every day.
RIP Sensei.
I'm sat here bawling my eyes out for two men and I still feel nothing for my Mother, probably better than the dislike I had for her when she was alive.
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Mon 3 Mar 2008, 17:02, 2 replies)

4 bodies
Body 1. Jumper 1 (technically not a dead body yet)

I was 16, early summer, Friday afternoon roughly 5pm. Me and a mate of mine were walking away from Worthing town centre past the multi-storey car park. Still not quite sure what we saw/heard but we both looked to our left. To me it looked like someone had been decked and then bounced back up a little, but there was no-one else there. My brain caught up with events and I realised I'd seen a jumper. I turned round to Stu, he turned white, screamed and legged it. I shouted after him, "get the police" (station literally round the corner).

Now the reason I mentioned it was 5ish on a Friday was that its a pretty busy time. I looked around me, there was me and the jumper, no people no cars. I slowly started to walk over to be jumper - shitting myself "what do I do", I was getting closer, "Oh fuck what do I do". I saw a women leg it across the road to the jumper, "thank fuck".

I went over and had a look, the jumper's leather belt had snapped, his eyes were white, his arms were white. People started to come out of shops, the multi-storey building. His arms were now one huge purple bruises. At this point the rozers turned up and then the ambulance. I think the jumper was technically alive when I saw him last but I heard he'd died in the ambulance.

I was alright, abit shakey, had a spliff, went to the pub - told everyone. My mate turned up briefly about an hour later, he'd just bolted, ended up at home. Never really saw much of him after that, he ended up on anti-depressents and believing in god!

Body 2. Victoria

Walking through Victoria station on a Sunday in 1991, completely mashed from the night before, wide-eyed from the E. I saw a group of people and paramedic crew. They were trying to resuscitate a young guy. They stopped. The guy's mate was leaning against a pillar in tears. I was gutted for him, I caught my train feeling like shit.

Body 3. Jumper 2

Croydon c2003. Walked round corner to see a fairly old geezer dead at the bottom of the Whit Gift multi-storey car park. I hated Croydon, I hated everybody in it, one less person in Croydon. Grabbed a sandwich and went back to work (I use this word lightly - I commuted from Brighton to East Croydon, surfed the net, went home).

Body 4. Floating Body

Last year me, my girlfriend and another couple were walking alongside The Thames near Cliveden. My mate works there and we'd got off the beaten path a bit.

A fallen tree was sticking out and quite a bit of debrie had collected against it including a blue jacket. puffed out like it had a lots of air in it. I said "'ere, looks like a dead body", my mate, the A-Man says "nah, its been there for weeks". We leave.

During the next week A-Man sees some kids in a rowing boat down at the same spot (they are living "Stand By Me"). Thinking they're upto no good he challenges them. "We've come to see the dead body". A-Man gets them to poke the jacket with an oar. The head surfaces and then stench hits them.

Technically, I saw a jacket, so next time I say "It looks like a dead body", I'll get the nose peg out and take a better look.
(specsteve, Mon 3 Mar 2008, 16:48, 4 replies)

I may very well be a dead body soon
My mother's gone to Hong Kong for a couple of weeks, meaning I'm the only person living here for a fortnight.

I've just accidentally locked myself into the closet. [Don't make the jokes. Please.] It's a bastard thick door that I have no chance of knocking down, thanks to the lack of a run up and my spindly biceps. I have nothing else on my person except for the Nintendo DS I'm typing this from, and the bog roll I came here to collect. The only consolation is that there is a tiny window, and my neighbours left his wireless router unsecured.

Wish me the best of luck.
(kimini touches your shoulder gently on, Mon 3 Mar 2008, 16:36, 13 replies)

I've seen a dead body - a nasty dead body
Way back when I was 11 or 12, I used to live in a block of flats which was part of three blocks; A, B, and C. I lived in A block.
I came home from school to find no-one there. Oh well, I thought, and decided to go to my younger brothers school to meet him there. As I left the main door and was walking across the grass towards A block, when I spotted Police and the caretaker standing by the rear exit of C block.

Only two days before the exact same scene was played out when a drunk man had passed out on the grass between all three blocks which lead to chucking rocks at him to wake him up. The police then turned up to cart him away.

Anyway, thinking that it was the same drunk man I decided to amble over and have a look. It wasn't a drunk man but a woman who had jumped from the tenth floor. Now, the Police and caretaker had seen me approach but had done nothing to stop me approaching and seeing what was a dreadful site. Somehow, her head had been twisted around to face backwards whilst her legs were a tangled mess. There were chunks of flesh and chips of bone laying around.

After almost puking up on the spot I tried to block my gaze by covering my eyes. I then ran away and meet my brother at school. Luckily, my parents were there and had gone to meet him. I relayed what had happened and thus we went home. On arriving at home, my mum was accosted by the caretaker and wa told that the dead woman was the daughter of my mum's friend in C block and my mum was given the task of finding her and keeping her where she was until the body was taken away. My mum eventually found her friend and succeeded in keeping her away from her dead daughter. I meanwhile went back home to see how things were getting on.

At this point, Police had sealed off the area and covered the body. As they lifted up the gurney it was on, the arm draped out from under the blanket and then proceeded to fall off. This lead to loud audible gasps from everyone who had gathered round to gawp, but laughter from me and my friends.

After everyone had gone, someone had put down grit to absorb the blood. I went over to look and managed to see several small chunks of flesh and some teeth.

Right buggered me up that did. Took some time before I was able to go near that site.

I have seen a couple of dead bodies since then but it was almost like I am immune to them.
(Clivicus, Mon 3 Mar 2008, 16:12, 3 replies)

"During the war" my grandad...
Got shot in the face and lost his tongue....

He never spoke about it.




*Closes the "book of old and worn out jokes"*
( Humpty Dumpty was Pushed Is unaware of having any limits., Mon 3 Mar 2008, 15:38, 3 replies)

Watch Out
My grandad died at Auschwitz

Ive seen the photos

He fell out of the guards tower.

:)
(hoogie Original Cunt Horse Author, Mon 3 Mar 2008, 15:34, Reply)

The thought of dead puppies...
... is as effective a delay technique as thought of Anne Widdecombe / Margaret Thatcher / Your mother-in-law.

Thoughts of the latter three having a feminine tryst, seem to have the opposite effect.
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Mon 3 Mar 2008, 15:07, 7 replies)

true facts about death
- If people did not decompose, we'd be standing on a layer of bodies 14 metres thick.
- People do decompose, of course, but their atoms are merely recycled, so that we are constantly breathing the lives that lived before us.
- After death, the corpse actually increases in temperature, sometimes hot enough to fry an egg or toast bread.
- The ancient Welsh tribe of Llythmmgog tried to bury their dead in the sky by throwing them from the top of a tree.
- In modern-day America, more coffins are sold each year than tubes of lubricant.
- Lenin, who lies embalmed in Moscow, is not actually dead at all. A Duracell battery inserted in his anus maintains his organism at the most basic level.
- Kerry Katona is clinically brain dead. She is animated by invisible wires manipulated by publicist Max Clifford.
- In pre-Conquest central American societies, tribes were able to cheat death by chewing a combination of leaves called Kaaleth. The most famous example was a tribal king who fell from a mountain and continued to live as a kind of giblet soup.
- One anagram of 'death' is 'thead', which coincidentally in the Hopi word for 'getting one's foreskin caught between the dagger and the stone.'
- Fewer people die each year in the north of England than in the south. They manage this out of sheer bloody-mindedness.
- Drinking a cocktail of bleach, anitfreeze and aspirin will not necessarily kill you, but it will put you in a coma until all of your friends are dead of natural causes.
- DJ's on local radio and Virgin FM have IQs lower than that of a butterfly. I wish they were dead.
(frankspencer, Mon 3 Mar 2008, 14:45, 58 replies)

Mummy's Old Workies
Back when I was fairly wee, at about the age of 7 or 8, my mum and my two elder sisters worked at an old folks home near the beach in sunny Margate.

My dad, being the antisocial git he was back then, wasn't mum's first choice to look after me whilst she and my sisters were on the night shifts, so I had to go and stay in the filthy piss-ridden stinkhole a couple nights a week.

The experience that stands out most in my mind from those dreadful times was a typical night for the fam, but will stick with me forever.

Sitting in the kitchen grating industrial sized blocks of cheese to make myself a sarnie, I noticed one of the room alarm lights was flashing. I called my mummsy in and everyone rushed upstairs to see to whichever biddy needed assistance. This was a first for me so I legged it up there to see what goes on when these alarms are going.

Being a good mum, she let me in the room to keep an eye on me and made me sit in a nicely ammonia stained chair in the corner. As I turned to plonk myself down, I was horrified to see a fairly old woman, ailed with what can only be described as her fanny being sick.

There were organs actually hanging out... Now, I've never had aspirations of working in medicine or care, but do read up alot, and this... well... I still don't understand what could possibly cause a nice old biddy to have haemoroids coming out of the front bum.

So loving mum and loving sisters are trying to help nice sharing old lady out, whilst also trying to shield me from seeing this horrific sight, and after a few re-applications of catheters and a bit of juice in her IV, lovely nice old generous lady just can't take it and not so peacefully passed on.

and I'm just sitting there staring at this poor husk of what used to be a person... put me right off my sandwich.

Fucked me up a good deal too methinks... probably the root of my fear of the lady parts.

Truly sorry for length, it's my first time and after seeing that, would you be able to maintain one...
(RizzJizz doesn't do life., Mon 3 Mar 2008, 14:20, 7 replies)

no.....
but I fear I don't have long to wait until I see a whole plethora of them. Its now 1.40 pm and I'm about to go home for lunch. On my return to work I shall be carrying my MG64 machine gun rifle into the office where I will then proceed to unleash a hailstorm of bullets and kill absolutely every motherfucker in the room.

look out for me on bbc london news tonight. in fact, a massacre of this scale should be sir trev's top billing at 10 tonight. i'll be the one in the yellow beenie hat.
(CaptainFellatioNelson is trying to kill me, Mon 3 Mar 2008, 13:50, 7 replies)

Cereal killer.
May be a pea from cheap tat qotw, not sure.

I got some of those fat & seed balls to feed the birds at the beginning of winter. Long story short, the local fieldmice tried to become 'domesticated' by taking advantage of the free food & warmth available at my place.

They paid a hefty price in the end though. Traps were duly set and triggered. I think there were 4 in total. The relevance came when I emptied & re-set the trap the second time and became interested in my prey. I began taking pictures of Mickey & chums in all manner of 'funny' poses with cigarette butts in their mouths, half hanging out of beer bottles etc.
And to keep the current trend; Them wuz all soft and fluffeh, like kittunz.
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Mon 3 Mar 2008, 13:45, 2 replies)

I'm not sure whether I'm relieved or still freaked out.
I used to help my Mum out with her cleaning round. One of the jobs was to clean leaves out of the garages outside the block of flats we swept...I got more than leaves.

There was blood all up the fucking walls and ceiling and what looked like a bundle of rags and wool in the middle of the garage, soaked by what was obviously repeatedly stabbed flesh... One look was enough for me and I promptly started screaming. I don't think I have ever freaked out so much in my life, blubbering hystercally like a wuss about the murder that had evidently happened...

Turns out it was a dead sheep and a group of satanists were known for this kind of thing nearby.

Luckily I didn't get disignated cleaning up the remnants of flossy (I named the sheep) but I feel sorry for the poor bastard who did.
(trippeh, Mon 3 Mar 2008, 13:25, 3 replies)

Yes, but we didn't know it.
Where I live, we used to catch the train to school - not a real train, but a train that is just meant for tourists and only goes about 5 miles - they used to have some sort of deal with the school - anyway, me and my mate S turned up at the train station early and we were the only 2 there. S spots the body in the ditch under the bridge we had to cross to get to the station. and said "oh, there's a stiff in the ditch."

So I go and look, and before long other kids arrive to wait for the train. Hardly anyone thought it was a body - opting for the choice that it was instead, a dummy of some description. So duly, rocks and lumps of wood and stones were thrown at it to see if it was a body or a dummy.

One kid comes up and says, "Oi, stop that."

I thought he actually had some respect, but no, he just wanted the hurling objects to stop long enough so that he could get down there and nick it's watch - which he did.

One kid got the bus to school that day, but told the teachers that he had found the body, and had to go home early as he felt sick. Lying skiving git.

Wish I'd thought of that.
(dchurch bah, Mon 3 Mar 2008, 13:07, 1 reply)

No I haven't
But I did see my cousin's dog after it had died. She was a great character and had been a virtual family member for 11 years. I remember him turning up at my aunt and uncle's house with her after she had been but down. The plan was to bury by the Clyde in the morning. So he put her in the garage overnight. I couldn't resist having a peek so I snuck down in to the dark garage and lifted the tarp covering her. She just looked asleep. I totally expected her to start moving if I touched her. But she was cold and her nose was dry. It was all quite emotional.

Length? About four feet from nose to tail.
( Raindance Work is inversely proportional to post-count, Mon 3 Mar 2008, 13:04, Reply)

Pearost, but reuse and recycle eh?
I was extremely upset recently when I noticed a dead ghost, lying by the side of the road.

Thankfully, on closer inspection it turned out to be a carrier bag.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Mon 3 Mar 2008, 13:03, Reply)

Had a shock in January
My curtains were closed and I was typing away at the computer, when a big shadow flew past my window (down) and there was a sickening sound of smashed glass from below (there's the glass roof of a restaurant there).

I quickly ran to the window mobile in hand to get a better look and was already dialing for an ambulance when I realised it was just a massive icicle that had fallen off the roof and smashed at the bottom.

I was so incredibly relieved!

length? about 3 feet
( morrybyte made a subtle namechange at, Mon 3 Mar 2008, 12:55, Reply)

Marilyn Monroe
Anyone else heard the story that when she was finally sent to the undertakers, the morticians all took it in turns to shag her dead body?
Makes you think, though. If it was Salma Hayek or Jessica Alba or Angeline Jolie... If she was still warm... Maybe you'd relax your usual stance on necrophilia.

And, girls, imagine Matthew McConnaughey naked with a permanent woody.
(frankspencer, Mon 3 Mar 2008, 12:30, 11 replies)

and on a kitten note
i rescued one from the brent last night. he was quite vocal in his disaproval of the water temperature.

so if anyone was offended by the sight of me in my keks in brentford last night, i can only apologise.
(magictorch, Mon 3 Mar 2008, 12:19, 4 replies)

for those of you that havnt and want to..
fulham flats. the side of the thames by fulham football club. its where alot of stuff in the river ends up eventually coz the stream is really slack on that side.

its where i saw my first and only corpse. well apart from the one that was wrapped around the boat race finish post. nice way to start a tuesday.

word of advice kids.. the bits of richmond and strand on the green with no fences between the pub you and the water can be a little dangerous if you're hammered.
(magictorch, Mon 3 Mar 2008, 11:38, 1 reply)

Yeah.
I work in newspapers, and normally it's a great job. I sit behind a desk, get to read things pretty much as they happen, laugh at people's dumb mistakes in the police blotter, and generally have a grand old time. About six months ago, I was working at a newspaper in the Florida Keys. It was a small office -- just a half-dozen writers who all took their own photographs, wrote most of the paper, and handed it off to we layout folks and copy editors.

Because we worked behind a desk, it was mostly just a 9-5 job. Clock in, do work, clock out. Nothing special. Now, being in the Florida Keys, we get a ton of automobile, truck, RV (caravan), and motorcycle traffic. All of it comes down a single two-lane roadway 120 miles from Florida City. Because of this fact, and the fact that most folks are drunk half the time (it's the Keys, right?) there's an astonishingly high number of traffic accidents (former U.S. Attorney General Janet Reno was involved in one) and a high, high number of fatalities. It's not uncommon to have 30 or more traffic deaths a year -- and this in a county where the permanent population is just over 80,000 people. Most of the deaths happen at night, when people are at their drunkest, and most happen in two particular stretches of the highway -- both of which are far north of our office. There are particular times of the year -- during the buildup to tourist season, New Year's, during Fantasy Fest, the Poker Run, and any day of the week ending in 'y' -- when things are particularly bad.

On one fine, sunny day, we were in the office as usual, rattling away on the keyboards, when we heard a godawful screech and bang from outside. Within a few seconds, one of the secretaries came back into the office to let us know that there had been a bad accident right outside the front door. Well, there weren't any writers around at the moment, and I figured it wouldn't hurt to grab a camera and a few lenses on the way outside.

I threw on a telephoto lens and zoomed in on the action (God ... did I really type "action"?). A motorcyclist and his rider had been driving at 55 miles an hour (speed ascertained from the speedometer, which had stopped at the moment of impact and which was clearly visible in the photographs), and had slammed into the back of a vehicle stopped to make a left-hand turn. Needless to say, neither were wearing helmets.

I'd like to say that I immediately dropped the camera and ran to help the victims of the accident, which had happened less than a minute prior. Unfortunately, I can't say that. I kept snapping pictures, walking around the crash site in a circle. I ended up taking over 200 -- pictures of the first people on the scene, pictures of the police running to assist, pictures of the ambulance arriving, pictures of crying bystanders. But most of all, I got pictures of the victims.

I don't know their names. I've never bothered to check, mainly because I feel guilty that I didn't do anything to help. I simply saw everything through the lens, as if it were on television. I was detatched, remote, a thousand miles away as two people died on the road not fifteen feet away from me, limbs splayed wildly, blood and brains leaking onto the pavement.

I like to think that there was nothing I could have done, that they were already dead by the time I ran out there. Regardless of whether they were or not, I'll always remember one particular moment, one particular image. A policewoman, hand over the head of a victim, screaming for help. And I just stood there, taking pictures, pausing to change lenses to make sure I got the absolutely best shot.
(FleetlordVT, Mon 3 Mar 2008, 11:26, 3 replies)

Yes. And advance apologies for the length.
In my gap year, rather than hike around Oz or write poetry in Paris, I worked as a waitress in a middle-of-nowhere hotel/carvery, down a long, desolate road. The only scenes of note down the road were the railway (which went under the road) and a completely random McDonald's Drive-Thru (why are they always in the most unlikely places?) Anyway.

The road took a good twenty minutes at a steady pace, and, the year 2000 as it was, I listened to the radio on my Sony (tape!) Walkman. All was well, at 6am, as I walked to the hotel to serve breakfast.

Through my earphones (and I'm almost positive it was Offspring's Pretty Fly for a White Guy) I hear a screecing sound, followed by a dull, heavy thud. The road is on a bump, so I can't see ahead. Over the bump comes a very fast red car. 'Blimey', thinks I, 'I wonder if he hit a deer?' (I was surrounded by fields and forest). Quickening my pace I went to the aid of the poor fluffy fox/rabbit/pheasant that the evil red car had probably joyridden over.

As I got over the brow of the hill I saw a car, embedded in the metal railway bridge. It was a little black car, and the windscreen was broken, with a post sticking out of it. A hissing sound was coming from under the crumpled up bonnet, but I couldn't see any smoke or fire.

Now, I was 17. I wasn't worldly-wise. I was frightened, and I didn't know what to do. Luckily, I had a big, sticky-up-aerial mobile phone.

I ran up to the car and saw something I just wasn't mentally able to deal with. The female driver's head just wasn't attached. A metal sign had pierced the windscreen and severed her neck, even bending the metal back on the chair's headrest. I don't know what she looked like, all I could see was blood, and lots of it. I was staring through the (open) driver's side window, and looking over this scene of horror, I could see a male passenger. His legs looked crushed, but I couldn't see very well. All I remember is that he was screaming the most blood curdling scream, he must have been in sheer agony. I tried saying 'it's OK. I'm going to call an ambulance, stay awake', but the sound of my voice made him look over to me, and he saw the driver and the fact she was very clearly dead. The look of realisation and the terrible wail this poor man let out will always stay with me. He was screaming for me to do something for his wife, to get her out of the car. I pulled out my mobile and called 999.

They kept me on the phone, and I had to describe the scene. The guy couldn't get out of the car due to his legs, and I couldn't even get to him to check his responses as his whole door had hit the metal bridge and stayed there. I was so calm, though my heart was going crazy, and I remember repeating 'what do I do? I don't know what to do. The woman on the phone was asking me if I was sure the driver was dead and I kept having to say she was, in front of her husband, who was hysterical. The ambulance driver asked me if anyone else was in the car. I said no, but they made me check. I couldn't see anything until I saw, behind the man, a car seat with a tiny baby in it. Awake, and just staring.

I was terrified. I thought the baby was dead - she (pink blanket) wasn't making a sound. You know when you are so shocked and scared and upset you can't actually catch your breath to speak? Well, I couldn't get the words out to the emergency people, I was just making horrible wet hiccupy sounds.

I reached over the dead woman, and pulled myself into the car. I was actually laying over the metal post (and thankfully not on her lap). I seemed to spend ages trying to unbuckle that car seat. All this time the man was screaming the baby's name (which I don't want to repeat here). I managed to pick up the baby but I didn't have the strength to slide back out of the window carrying her, so I handed her to the man. I fell backwards, out of the window, and picked up the mobile, the woman was still there. I think she was asking me how I was when a fire engine turned up (a police car and an ambulance turned up whilst I was talking to the firemen).

I never saw them cut open the car, etc, Because they sat me on the steps of the ambulance and checked I wasn't hurt (I wasn't, but I had some blood on me). A police car took me to the station and I gave a statement, people kept bringing me hot weak tea full of sweetener and they even gave me dinner - lasagne - I ate the lot.

I never told my dad (who I lived with at the time) as he'd never have let me walk to work again, but I did eventually hand in my notice. I developed some problems eating, and lost a huge amount of weight, arriving at uni ten months later a mere 6 1/2 stone. I tried counselling but it wasn't for me. I'm okay now, but I guess it was some kind of post traumatic stress thing.

I never met the man or his daughter after that day. I went to work the next day to find some yellow and black tape running the length of the bridge, the stump of a sawn-off signpost, and a bunch of yellow flowers.
(Northern Lovely, Mon 3 Mar 2008, 10:54, 6 replies)

For Those Looking For Fluffeh Tiemz
My kitten was hit by a car yesterday :( It wasn't pretty at all.






At the vets presently recovering though! Lucky bastard :)
(mannitol, Mon 3 Mar 2008, 10:39, 2 replies)