There was lightning. And wind. Rain pelted and walls shuddered with air surrounding as the original tone of power pulsed through all being nearby. Now, there’s only darkness. Darkness and heat. You hear a lot about darkness and cold – the combination’s used so often to generate atmosphere: chilling, desperate, evil, and fell. The lights go out and the temperature drops when spirits are near, and countless stories begin along the lines of “it was a cold winter’s night.” Perhaps I’m biased here, given where I’m from and what I have more experience in. But darkness and cold, I find, cannot generate the eerie stillness that is darkness and heat. Stifling and close, time doesn’t stop – it’s heavily medicated, minutes sluggishly oozing on while the unearthly, tense expectation of unknown mounts. A different atmosphere to the cold and dark. Under used, I think. Nothing quite like the stage between sweating and not, the odd discomfort and twitch of warmed skin as innards slowly turn, waiting, always waiting.
Power should be back on by one.