The train whistle sounded. It was near. The train was speeding along toward the railroad crossing as fast as it always had. It was dark. There were no other cars on the road. I mindlessly stopped the car. I looked up to see the crossbars drop in front of me and behind me as the bells began their warning.

‘I have groceries in the car,’ I thought. ‘No one will know it’s a suicide. Please forgive me.’

The whistle sounded again as it bared down on my little red convertible. The conductor saw my car and frantically sounded the whistle, too late. I could see the panic in his eyes as the engine rammed the passenger side of my car and tore it to shreds as it tumbled down the tracks in front of the train. The sounds of metal against metal and the brakes of the train squealing to a halt echoed through the air as lights flickered on throughout the sleepy community of Vinings, in Northwest Metro Atlanta, Georgia, on Tuesday, September 16^th, 2003.