It wasn’t that hot. It was cool with a breeze. Why did he turn on the fan?
It was the violence inside him that drove him mad and raised his temperature. For his madness, the fan couldn’t bring him the slightest coolness; the fan instead rattled and shook violently with black dust flying all over the place.
Then suddenly the fan fell onto the table, screaming father’s furious negativity. Luckily, no one was hurt. Father was about to pour the food into bowls while I was fetching the chopsticks and spoons. We both were just a little distant from where the accident had taken place. But the distance between me and my father seemed more than the distance between south and north poles. It felt as the start of a curse.