I went down to the river today and took this photo.
200 jumpers, 5 survivors.
It may seem ghoulish to some, but this bridge is what inspired me to write a short story, simply called ‘The Bridge’.You can read it in full in my book, Tales of Crimes & Violence (Vol 3).
This is an excerpt from that tale…
I pulled the car into the small layby by the bridge, turned the engine off and leaned back in my seat, opening the window I put a cigarette between my lips.
I had to grip my right hand with my left to steady the uncontrollable trembling, as I brought the flame of my lighter to the end of the Marlborough.
My heart was pounding, thumping against my rib cage. I could feel each powerful beat reverberate inside my brain.
That pulsating beat is what was causing my hands to tremble. That and the fear and the adrenaline and the dark excitement.
I knew I only had a few moments, a few minutes for contemplation before they came. Before they would find me.
What I would do then was an uncertainty. Maybe I would just react, fight or flight? Although I doubt if I could resist them, no one ever does, at least not for long.
Which left the option of flight. But I had done that. It was what brought me here, to the bridge.
The Humber Bridge is monumental. It is suspended by a mass of pythons, twisted metal cables, one hundred feet above the sludge brown of the river. From tower to tower it is one mile and the road continues beyond the pillars, reaching out, grabbing the riverbanks with its blackened tarmac fingers.
Yet, for all the earth destroying steel and concrete construction, the bridge has an illusion of beauty, enhanced by nature itself. Somehow the two blend, even complement each other, an amalgamation of converse contraries.
This is where I find myself. Sitting in my car and pondering the events which led me here, while considering my options for the future, the near future, the very near future,