I braced myself. Stood up from the loveseat, faced the blades spinning around in the white circle. It could sense me—and I could sense its fear.
I took a step toward it. Now, it was a fight for its life. The wind produced by the fan turned up, and up. I grabbed the arm of the loveseat to keep myself from being blown away. I rooted my feet deeper into the ground.
And slowly, I marched.
Each step against the current.
My hair a mess in my face, I kept going, kept marching.
I stood now, face to face with the fan, its blades looking into my eyes, spinning as fast as they could, desperate.
My arm slowly extended—almost—almost.
I clicked it off. Triumphant. I walked back to the loveseat and sat down. Took a breath.
But now, I worry, the room is getting a bit warm.