Shelly Marie Dixon dropped the dishrag as she stared outside at the torrential downpour that had just taken out her power. House swathed in darkness, she gripped the edge of the sink and struggled not to panic. Just hold out for a few seconds. She clenched her teeth, took deep breaths, and waited on eggshells. Five seconds and the generator kicked on. A deep shuddering breath when the soft lighting pushed back the inky blackness. She stared at her hand, gaze sliding along the faded knife scars in her skin. Five years. Five years of terror, night sweats, and panic attacks. So much so, she ended up leaving Washington, D.C. to move out to this small town in Colorado in a failing attempt to start over. She gazed out the window, past the herbs growing in their little clay pots, to the deluge creating a river of leaves and grass clippings as they flowed past. “Hell of a time for my fears to kick in.” She left the dishes in the sink and returned to the corner of her one room studio apartment to dig in the chest of drawers where she swiped three push lights.
