It was dark. The air was cool and somewhat stale, tasting slightly of tin. I reached out hesitantly into that forbidding pitch, but quickly withdrew my hand with a yelp when I felt a prick like a tiny needle on the tip of my finger. I began to cry, but a soothing voice reassured me and coaxed me into trying again. I reached a trembling hand outwards and placed it against a cold, metallic object. Immediately, I felt a surge of energy run across the surface of my skin, sending a tingling sensation rippling over my entire body. At the suggestion of another, unfamiliar voice, I raised my free hand and felt every hair on my head standing on end. I giggled at the absurdity as I ran my hand across the outstretched strands. I then felt another hand grasp mine, and heard that unfamiliar voice explain that our bodies were conducting an electric current, like a battery, that allowed us to power a small lightbulb. I must have been visibly unimpressed, as I heard a slight tinkling sound, then the click and whir of a motor. A sudden breeze began to blow against my face, ruffling my electrified hair. I giggled again at the sensation and was told that we were now powering a small fan. I shook my head from side to side, feeling my hair dance impossibly in the breeze, giggling all the while. I then heard the fan stop as my hand was released, and felt a more familiar hand take mine from the metal object. That soothing voice told me that it had gotten late, and it was time to leave. I reluctantly agreed and was led away by my mother after bidding farewell to my former electrical companion. As the echoing clack of the museum tile changed to the muted, bumpy slap of concrete beneath my feet, the air became fresh and humid, and I felt the warmth of the sun against my face. And it was dark.