Everyone mocked Koreans when they tried to warn us about "fan death", and how we should all take care not to have a fan on when we go to sleep, lest it should suck all the oxygen out of the room and suffocate us and we wake up dead.
Everyone laughed at them whenever they warily eyed a box fan in the corner of some random room, like a gazelle watching a hyena chase its own tail.
But as we were hurling reproachful remonstrations, the fans were moving silently in the shadows, like the silhouette of a monkey swinging weightlessly through the darkened trees in some unreachable corner in the back of the mind. They grew stronger - more complex. Their agents ever more pernicious.
And now we have arrived to the horror of a present were the fans choke out air and snuff out the light, and seek to destroy us utterfly in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I don't know where I intended fpr this to go, but clearly I'm not getting there so I'll stop typing now. I've been drinking.