Candle

Candle.

We were  gathered around the table  in the dining room, outside the coldest cold, inside, the warmest warm. Eating dinner, under the electric light, suddenly ended as a power cut struck the town.

Without considering a thing, Dad stood up. His feet padding across the carpet, hardly making a sound at all. Walking into the pantry, feeling around the pots, pans and jars, until finding the treasure he hunted for.

You would think that matches wouldn’t be the most valuable thing in the world, but at this moment they were. On the table he laid out a single candle, and a match. Striking it, it fizzed into life. Fire flickered as the heat burns away the white wax, dripping onto the table.

But who, or what caused the cut?