The dusty blades of the ceiling fan were still. The Summer storm last night with claps of lightning, gales of wind, and lashes of rain, had knocked out the electricity. She stirred in her sleep, then yawned and wiped her neck with her hand. Although the thought seemed preposterous, he hoped she would turn her head and look at him, but she dragged herself to the bathroom, and flicked the light switch on. Oh, she said, almost inaudibly, when the soft-white bulbs didn’t light up.
Read more at Tint Journal.