Fiction, From Revolver — The power went out, and at first, it was just that. But then an hour turned into a day and that day turned into a week and they threw away the food in the refrigerator. After two weeks and no word, they had to leave the house with the milky, clouded plastic still flapping at the back of the upstairs, where it covered the fire damage. The workers’ tools had lain scattered around on the ground, on the scaffolding.