There was a sign ahead. I was driving along the winding country road, admiring the scenery and considering my route and plans for the day. I squinted to read ahead. What was that it said? Ah, yes, wombat crossing. Funny. I haven't seen a wombat in years. I didn't change anything significantly about my driving. Wombats aren't that much of a problem.
A flash of color caught my eye. A colorful bird, highlighted against the dark canopy. I followed it as I drove. It was a straight stretch, I could drive while watching the sky.
I glanced back at the road. And did a major double-take. I saw a wombat. That on its own stunned me; I'd never actually seen one before in the wild, just in zoos. It was a strange creature. Compact, very heavy-set, and yet graceful in its own unique way.
Then, I realized I needed to stop. And fast. The wombat was speeding towards me at about 50 miles per hour. Shoot. I lifted my foot off the accelerator, and then paused for another moment. I saw another wombat. And another. There was a whole string of wombats crossing the road at the same place, just a hundred yards past the sign. I slammed on the brakes, but it was too late. I rammed into two of them at once. The car stopped instantly. My seatbelt snapped into place, the airbag exploded in my face. I was stopped in the very middle of the road, and as I watched, more and more wombats flooded out over me. They plodded along dully, ignoring their surroundings.
Wombat after wombat after wombat. All trudging towards some unknown destination, not stopping for anything.
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