"It's my fault."

It was 2004. I always ran the same route back then. I'd walk out of my apartment, turn left onto Winsted Dr. and another left at Loving, then continue on a 6 mile loop. This morning was no different. But as I approached Loving, a cyclist called out, "turning on your right". There were no sidewalks so I was running in the street, on the left side, against traffic. The cyclist was on the right side of the road, as he should have been, but also wanted to turn left at Loving. As he warned me that he was coming, I looked over my right shoulder  and that is when I saw it all unfold. KAPOW! BOOM! CRASH! Squealing tires. Screaming. Bike pieces flying though the air. He flew up onto the hood, hit the windsheild, then roof of the car, over the car, hit the back end and went SPLAT in the middle of the road. The bicycle itself was unrecognizable. "I killed him!! He's dead! I hit him!," the grandma-type lady screamed as she ran out of her car. He didn't move. He had turned right in front of her, just six feet from where I was standing. After she stopped screaming there was silence. No one moved. Then he slowly sat up and eventually stood up. He picked up a few bike parts from the road, he lifted up his head, held up one finger as if in thought, paused, and simply said, "It's my fault." I just stood there. A man in an SUV came upon the scene. I told him to call 911. Then I turned around and continued my run up Loving. I can honestly say that was the most exhilarating run I have ever had. As I looped back to the spot of the accident about an hour later, no one was around. No bike parts in the street, no one present, as if it never happened.