Glares of the Angry

Quite honestly, nobody knew where to look. Collisions are always awful, but worse when guilt falls
upon you. Blood-soaked things that had once been human tumbled off my bonnet, curled in a gruesome fashion, like every bone in his body broke instantly. They probably did.
It was shocking, too unbearable for my eyes. Bodily fluid dripped slowly downwards, into the street and beyond silent, disgusted crowds, all wild-eyed, their mouths wide open with shock. So after pausing, thinking dreadful thoughts, I got out.
People gave me filthy glares. Stabbing, piercing.
Apologies were not needed. No-one would ever listen any more.

By Doc Harralander (captainslayg) 100 words long.