When our Jane Doe hit the roof, the impact dislodged paint chips from the ceiling, which, as you can see, are currently dispersed around the shelves and floor.
The plasma fireball shoots out from the grape halves and, if everything goes just right, or horribly, horribly wrong, it tends to hit the roof of the microwave often pretty spectacularly.
When I closed my eyes I heard the voices, the sharp thwack of the bullet hitting the roof of the ambulance, the echo of the shot, the siren, the siren, the siren.
Dramatic flashes of forked lightning briefly illuminated the sky, and then, as if in afterthought, the heavy drumbeat roll of a deluge hit the roof of our little bungalow, so fierce that at first it drowned out sound.