Every year, on June 12th, at exactly 5:53PM, a group of thirty or more people assemble in the living room of Marjorie Simpson's West London house. Ever since an accident occurred ten years ago, they have been meeting annually at the same date and time of the tragedy to relive it. I am not allowed to participate, but watch as a bystander. They organize themselves onto predetermined seating, a configuration that has become all too familiar for those who come for this ritual every year. Marjorie sits near the front, suddenly she points, "Oh my God!" she shouts, "We're going to hit it!!". A man emits a shrill cry. Silence for a few seconds. All the participants make a 'brrrmmmrrrrmmmmbrrrmmm' sound. Everyone involved looks pale and terrified. Then they relax and go to pick up their wineglasses, and continue as if nothing occurred.
I approach Marjorie who is laughing and joking with one of the visitors, and demand an explanation; she was reluctant to give one, but changes her mind when I threaten to urinate on her garden gnome. "All the people gathered in my living room were on the same bus as me when the accident occurred." she gulps the rest of her wine down and continues, "We were on our way home after work. Then I spotted a rabbit." Marjorie sniffs, "And I saw it run in front of the bus." A tear runs down her cheek and her voice goes up a couple of octaves, "I tried to warn the driver, but it was too late. The bus went over the rabbit... it made a 'brrrrrmrmmmmmmrrmmbrrmm' noise as its tiny bones got mashed under the tyres." She shudders, her eyes reliving the nightmare as they stare a thousand yards.
I speak to another passenger, Al Johnson Robertson Smith, who was also on the bus that fateful day, "I actually didn't know that we had run over a rabbit. I was reading my newspaper and I heard the tyres go 'brrrrmrrmrmrrr' and thought how odd!" He struggles with his composure, then adds, "Sometimes, I wake up screaming in the middle of the night."
