The Bus
Her foot taped on the ground with the incessancy and ferocity of a runaway train car. There was no escaping it, and with each bounce, her guilt seemed to grow. The Tartarusian pit in her stomach deepened and was starting to make her feel nauseous as well. It should be raining she thought. It felt like the world should be crying with her, but alas, it was sunny as ever.
She kept playing that moment over and over again in her head. She should've done something-- jumped in front of the bus and pushed that little boy out of the way, screamed for someone else to do something maybe... anything but stand frozen in fear as she had.
But there was no taking it back, no magic time machine or portal to another dimension through which she could travel to live. She had felt like she was a good person, a moral one. And yet, the consequence of her inaction mocked the very notion. When faced with something real, she thought, you did nothing. You were a nothing but a bystander to that boy's death.