The heavens were in turmoil and, as Mitch gazed out of the window of the cabin, he knew he had a front row seat to the mayhem. As another clap of thunder shook the cabin, he delighted in the roof over his head. The rain lashed at the windows, like millions of tiny fists, knocking for entrance.
The majority of the light that filled the cabin came from the soft lamplight powered by a generator that Mitch's father had called 'indestructible'. The rest of the light filtered from the fire, which was slowly dying in the grate. Other than the intermittent flashes of lightning, the cabin remained relatively dark. Mitch strode towards the small kitchen, hoping to refill the mug that he held in his hands which, until recently, had held hot chocolate.
Suddenly, however, he was plunged into darkness. There was a deafening crack and a blinding flash of lightning before the lamplight sputtered out.