There was a bang in the middle of the

night. Lights flashed and the oven timer went off.
I had to get up and turn the timer off of course. Other people may be able to sleep throught a persistent buzzing but I cannot. I also disabled the flashing lights in the house. I did not investigate the bright flashing lights in the street. They were white rather than red or blue. There had not been any sirens either and, if there had been, I think I would have been even less inclined to investigate.
I have never been inclined to investigate anything which might be an accident. I cannot understand people who just stand and gawk at other people's misfortune. If there is nothing I can do to help then I want to move on. My father is the same.
If there appeared to be an accident ahead my father would, if possible, take a detour. If it was not possible then he would concentrate fiercely on driving the car. As a passenger I would close my eyes. I still do the same thing. I never want to know.
Someone once commented that this apparent lack of curiosity was strange in a would-be writer. The person commenting seemed to think I should take an interest in everything, observe everything and be able to write about everything I observed.
I cannot. There are things I do not understand even when I have observed them and I have no desire to try and write about them. There are other things about which I cannot write. If the time comes when I need to write about an "accident" then I will be able to draw on the memories of the accidents I have not been able to avoid witnessing. That will be enough. I do not need to intrude unnecessarily on the private lives of other people.