"A Fan Fic"<BR>
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Daria watched as a drop of sweat fell from her nose onto her book. She looked up at Jane, standing before an easal with a sweat band around her forehead. "Can't you at least open the window?"<BR>
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"I've tried, Amiga. It's stuck. I think it's been painted over."<BR>
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"Have you spoken to your mother about the air conditioner yet?"<BR>
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Jane rubbed her eye as the salt sweat burned it. "I've left a message on her email. Maybe she'll be able to access it when the caravan reaches Timbuktu."<BR>
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"Never fear, ladies, salvation has arrived," said Trent, entering with his burden.<BR>
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Jane's eyes widened. "Where'd you get that?"<BR>
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"Off one of Mom's sculptures," he said, placing it on the dresser. "Let's plug her up."<BR>
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He took the ancient power cord and put it in a socket. With a clatter, the antique fan started up. Daria and Jane smiled as the first wave of moving air reached them. Then, with a flash, a pall of smoke, and a smell of ozone, it died and shorted out the fuse box.*<BR>
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Daria stood for a moment in the dark, feeling the sweat trickle down her back. "Look, you two want to crash at my place for a while?"