Why I shouldn’t write nonsense at 01:00


All this violent weather in Sydney reminded me of an experience I had years ago with loud noises, avoiding talking to people and the like. Many facts have been admonished, embellished or made up for convenience. Enjoy!

Rowan of Brethrin

Despite having neither the licence nor the skill to operate a motor vehicular device, I piloted the nimble automobile down a lonely, dark stretch of road towards somewhere. A guy's house flew past me on one side, and presumably someone else's house on the other side. The road felt like a tunnel with large, overgrown canopy trees stretching out from the footpath and reaching across to touch the branches of their brethrin on the other side. A rather rude display to be performing in public, if you ask me. Which you didn't, so I'll shut up.

As I was attempting to avoid a fork in the road lest it puncture one of my tyres, I heard a loud crash so loud it crashed. Just like that description.

Bolting out of my chair like a spring loaded… chair, I thrust the headphones I was wearing onto the table and hit the spacebar on the keyboard to pause the simulator. I'd paused it many times before, but not under such frigtening circumstances. Frankly, I was surprised the keyboard had absorbed the impact of my keysmash as nonchelantly as it did. I suppose it had plenty of practice from when I'd been debugging Java late at night. ExcessivelyCamelCasedException THIS!

When I'd calmed down from the shock, I adjusted my invisible tie and strained my ears to triangulate where the sound had emanated. The room was dead silent, save for the oversized cooling fan in my primary desktop computer system which ironically was positioned below my desk.

Just as my blood pressure had returned to as normal a state as caffeine normally afforded me, the crash sound thundered across the room again. This time, with my full and undivided attention, I realised (HEY, AN ANIMATED GIF OF A CAT!) the sound was coming from the front door.

Who's to say front doors aren't side doors? Isn't the front a side?

On my tippy toes, which was rather difficult in awkwardly fitting slippers in the masculine shape of bunny rabbits, I inched towards the door. Croutching on the bunnies, I peeked underneath as I'd done so many times before while attempting to avoid contact with people, but to my surprise I saw none of the telltale signs of a human presence. Feet, mostly. And shoes. None. Neither!

Relieved I wouldn't have to actually speak to anyone, I fumbled with the door knob then inched the door aside.

Laying in front of the door was the unmistakably wooden shape of a tree branch. As thick as a tree branch, and nearly as long, it lay there with a freshy snapped section on one end, suggesting it had snapped off from the tree of which it had branched from at some point. How it had sailed to my front door in the dead of night without human assistance baffled me to the extent that I couldn't figure it out. Unlike all those other times I was baffled, mind.

Still, where did that second bang come from? Oh wait, it did make sense, there was a second branch there. Almost as massive and menacing as it's brother, assuming they branched from the same tree.

Another loud bang, and I took an involuntary nap on the welcome mat. Surprisingly soft, though a little muddy for my tastes. For the next few hours, I supposed it'd have to do.

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Ruben Schade is a technical writer and infrastructure architect in Sydney, Australia who refers to himself in the third person. Hi!

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