A Revenge Screw

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The fan’s aura is rusty, flakes from a decaying screw sprinkled its frame as I turned it on. The fan wails during thunderstorms, thunder muffled through spinning blades, no fear of lightning vibrations for the deaf, hell, it’s a God song they ought to sing. But what tempts the aura of a fan delights the death of a revenge screw. Revenge screws are easy to identify. They spin counterclockwise and sort of squeal while being twisted. They’re always in need of a Philips Head when what’s present is a flathead, but they delight in vice versa too. They are also in dire need of suicide. A sweet kill lurches, poses like thunder and proposes death as ultimate rejoice. Revenge screws turn, squeal and pulsate inside knotted wood. Thunder hums. Silence ensues.

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