Goodbye Old Woman.

His pace was faster than usual that day. The clouds were beginning to darken, as if a spring storm was on it's way. There weren't as many people walking as there usually were, but nevertheless it was still a crowded sidewalk. That's usually how things ran in New York. Everything was crowded, all the time. But he was one of those people, that tended to look at their shoes as they made their way, and yet he always knew were he was, and if he was ever in danger of tripping. The noise was the same as every other day, loud honking horns, people yelling profanities, construction work in the distance. He missed the silence. As he neared the intersection ahead, he could see an elderly woman, attempting to make her way across, but she was walking so very slowly... He quickened his pace. There weren't that many kind-hearted people left in the world, and he intended to keep himself in that category. Almost to the edge of the sidewalk, he heard a loud noise coming near. Before he had time to look around, a large dump truck hit the old woman with tremendous force, knocking her to the ground so fast it looked like the special effects of a horror movie. His heart froze in his throat. People around him were screaming, but he dared not look. He dared not cast his eyes at the sight, for he knew how terrible it must be. But he couldn't keep his eyes away. He saw her. He looked directly at the bloody mess in the middle of the road. "Oh my god," he said. He repeated this several times, before he got out his phone to call 911. He had a bad taste in his mouth, and he was sick to his stomach. He slowly walked toward her. "Oh my god," he said again. He could no longer hold in the tears. They were not so much tears of sadness, but tears of shock. He hadn't known this woman, and yet the gore and terror of her death has sparked pity and fear in his heart. He would be forever scarred. The man who had been driving the dump truck got out, and screamed like a child, running from the monster in his closet. Perhaps this was one of them now, for him. The very back of his mind being the closet, and what he had done, being the monster. This monster would haunt him for the rest of his life. He looked upon the driver with pity, and then his eyes again befell the mess on the road. The woman's scalp had been torn backwards, revealing the peak of her skull. Blood covered what was left of her face, and her lower jaw had been severed. Her tongue hung out of her throat like a dog's from the edge of his mouth on a hot summer day. People were still screaming. Her left leg had been twisted backwards, and was barely hanging on by a thin piece of mangled skin. Blood was running along the road like a growing puddle, a little girl somewhere in the crowd was wailing. One of the old woman's ears was laying in the middle of the street, next to a tattered piece of her hand. The body was completely mutilated. He could no longer look at the woman. This would be a monster in his closet, too. For the rest of his life, this woman, this sight, would haunt him in his most terrifying nightmares. He turned down the sidewalk. Home, and his children far from his mind. All he could think of was that woman's face. Her scalp pulled back, and her lower jaw missing. He stopped. He dared not look back. It started to rain. Suddenly everything went black.