The oscitant oscillator was stuck at the 4 o’clock position, and the fan head was feeling unruly. But it was the constant breeze on his bald pate that got his attention.
The fan head was stationary but the base shook, then it wobbled violently and shattered in to five pieces. The fan ring rolled off in a drunken arc down the hallway, the blade rotor shot out at great speed embedded itself in the wall. The back cage remained on the base, but the front half of the cage hit him squarely on the bridge of his nose, and a rich trickle of blood was made its way down his chin, and dripped onto his new polo shirt.
“My God, what the hell?”
The electrical chord crackled at the outlet, sparked, and set the curtain ablaze. The television was next to go. Before he could take a step toward the extinguisher in the kitchen, the building fire alarm went off sounding like a thousand amplified cicadas.
Then sprinklers shot off in all the common areas of the building: in the hallways, the laundry room, the gym, the lobby, the nursery. But inside his apartment the blaze went on, blocking his access to the kitchen, and eating its way through the east wing of the 22nd floor. His only way out was the balcony.
He stepped into the now pleasant sunshine. The fire teethed at his heels.
He climbed over the railing and alighted into that rarified air that so few inhabit.