Amsterdam, Centraal Station
It wasn't until after James Shannahan arrived at the station platform that he decided to throw himself onto the tracks. It was a logical decision and the optimum solution to the doubts that had plagued him for months. Besides, what could be easier?
Yes, he mused, it would be easy... and quick.
He stood rooted to the far eastern end of the platform looking down at the cinder-strewn rail bed. His bloodshot eyes traced the path onto the tracks.
Easy and quick.
Shannahan's gaze traveled the course of the tracks to where they intersected a complex array of switches and turnouts. There, the rails branched, and branched again, allowing trains to service the many platforms of the Amsterdam depot.
The signal lights flared come-hither green against the chill-blue backdrop of the dawn.
In the air he felt a hesitation in the train's approach as it slowed at the switches. Another minute?
He felt the rumble, the whoosh of air and the crescendo of the diesel locomotive as it approached. The steel-on-steel hum of the wheels on the tracks intensified –– he could feel the vibration through the soles of his shoes. The public address system blared the announcement that the train was arriving.
Shannahan took a step forward and stood at the very precipice of the platform.
This isn't a hook, it's a first page. It fails as a hook because we have no stake in whether this guy lives or dies and there's no compelling reason for either. It would work IF you had someone come up behind him and say "jump" or ""I'll give you a hundred bucks to jump" or "I'm going to kill your wife once you're dead" because then there's an element of surprise and suspense.