Able

         It wasn’t hard to walk away.  She simply placed one foot in front of the other and didn’t look back.

         For some, it would’ve been impossible.  The guilt would destroy them:  they’d slit their wrists or hang themselves.  Others would go mad:  the carnage and the screaming would lead them to gauge out their eyes and rip off their ears. 

         But not her.  She had the one thing that would help her persevere:  a souvenir.  It was tattered and bloody, but as long as she held it, she’d move forward, step by step.

         Until she needed a new one.