Through out the house, you could detect the sound of rain emanating onto the roof. You could hear the water drip infinitely from the gutters and land on the aluminum garbage tins in our driveway. The thunder roared as lightening cracked in the indistinct firmament.
Puck hid below the glass coffee table; his diminutive body trembling with fear as he whimpered and howled at the vibration the thunder produced.
Tom entered the living room with a cigarette lighter in his hand. As he approached the cabinet along the wall of the kitchen I asked, "Tom, what are you doing?"
He retrieved four candles from the cabinet before closing the doors. "Trying to light some candles before the power goes out. I don't want to be looking for candles in the dark."
I watched silently as Tom set the candles around the room; the first on the coffee table, the second upon a shelf along the wall that held frames with photographs of Tom's parents, the next on the end table beside the love seat, and the last upon the shelf of the wood entertainment center.
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