The man and his fan.
The man and his fan.
The nights were getting warmer and the man was glad he still had his old fan lying around. This particular fan hadn't been
through much, no wars, no floods or droughts, no depression and no death. But the man had. This is where the man and his fan differed. The man had seen the hard times, and had felt the pain. The fan hadn't. The fan lived a life of simplicity, rotating slowly and soothing the loud noises of the outside world.
He went over to his bedside table this evening and turned on the fan in preparation for bed. The fan creaked as it slowly
started to turn and spin its arms. The man remembers the time when the fan jumped to start, almost as if it had been eagerly awaiting its turn all day. Now, however, it took a moment. As the man turned from the table he too creaked slowly. His back and legs weren't the same they used to be, they weren't awaiting their turn.
The man and his fan both sighed as they tried to start up and the man knew his fan wouldn't last much longer. Laying down in bed he pondered whether or not he would get his fan fixed or simply throw it away. He wondered whether or not some other man might find a use for his fan, and then thought if he wanted to share his fan with others. It was his fan, and he should be the only one to feel its calming whisper. He wondered if his fan would appreciate being thrown out, or if it would prefer to be kept in some closet. But then he figured the fan wouldn't like a dusty old closet either. Deciding he
couldn't decide the man went to sleep with thoughts of thinking more about it tomorrow.
As the fan sat looking there at his man it too thought what should be done. Should the man be thrown away, or should someone store it in a closet? These are morbid thoughts, yes, but remember a fan does not know morbid. The fan wondered if his man could be used by others, used to help strangers, somehow recycled. The fan decided to just keep rotating, making plans of thinking about it next time his man turned him on.
But, alas, the man would not outlive his fan that night. His creaking bones could not hold out as long as the fans mechanical joints. As the mans heart stopped beating, silently and peacefully, the fans motor stopped too. Stopped only for a moment, and then started back up again - still thinking about his man.
The nights were getting warmer and the man was glad he still had his old fan lying around. This particular fan hadn't been
through much, no wars, no floods or droughts, no depression and no death. But the man had. This is where the man and his fan differed. The man had seen the hard times, and had felt the pain. The fan hadn't. The fan lived a life of simplicity, rotating slowly and soothing the loud noises of the outside world.
He went over to his bedside table this evening and turned on the fan in preparation for bed. The fan creaked as it slowly
started to turn and spin its arms. The man remembers the time when the fan jumped to start, almost as if it had been eagerly awaiting its turn all day. Now, however, it took a moment. As the man turned from the table he too creaked slowly. His back and legs weren't the same they used to be, they weren't awaiting their turn.
The man and his fan both sighed as they tried to start up and the man knew his fan wouldn't last much longer. Laying down in bed he pondered whether or not he would get his fan fixed or simply throw it away. He wondered whether or not some other man might find a use for his fan, and then thought if he wanted to share his fan with others. It was his fan, and he should be the only one to feel its calming whisper. He wondered if his fan would appreciate being thrown out, or if it would prefer to be kept in some closet. But then he figured the fan wouldn't like a dusty old closet either. Deciding he
couldn't decide the man went to sleep with thoughts of thinking more about it tomorrow.
As the fan sat looking there at his man it too thought what should be done. Should the man be thrown away, or should someone store it in a closet? These are morbid thoughts, yes, but remember a fan does not know morbid. The fan wondered if his man could be used by others, used to help strangers, somehow recycled. The fan decided to just keep rotating, making plans of thinking about it next time his man turned him on.
But, alas, the man would not outlive his fan that night. His creaking bones could not hold out as long as the fans mechanical joints. As the mans heart stopped beating, silently and peacefully, the fans motor stopped too. Stopped only for a moment, and then started back up again - still thinking about his man.