The Slotted Turbine

A low mechanical hum pulled me back across the patio threshold into the living room. Guarding the baseboard stood a compact black floor fan, its slotted plastic cage trembling with captive wind. Left head hissed at the slicing draft whistling past our snouts; right head dipped low, murmuring in fascination at the deep electrical vibration thrumming through the floor. Center head decreed unconditional dominance. Marching forward, I braced my talons against the fan's base and drove my center snout squarely against the stepped rotary knob. It turned with a heavy mechanical click. The whirring gale settled into a subdued, obedient purr. We held our stance, golden wings flared wide against the captured breeze.