Panic

Henna spent a great deal of her life in a state of panic. Of all of her emotions, this one was the easiest, quickest, and most intense. Combine this flaw with her exceptionally bad luck and she was a walking recipe for disaster stew.

If only one car was broken into in a parking garage it was hers. If lightning were to strike only one house, it would find its way onto her roof. If a pickpocket decided to rifle through only one purse in a large open market, her purse would call out to him to make himself at home.

So on a Wednesday in March, with a cold, brisk wind blowing from the north, and rain heavy in the clouds above, Henna decided she would be smart to stay home from work. After all, more accidents happened during poor weather. Her car, which she affectionately named "Bruce," would not appreciate being smashed to bits simply because Henna didn't want to waste a sick day that morning.

She spoke some reassuring words to Bruce in the driveway, just to be sure that he wasn't being replaced by a bus ticket, and then she slowly and carefully climbed the stairs to return to bed.

When she rested her head on her pillow, she could feel her heart pounding. Had she taken the stairs too quickly? Or was the panic creeping in. Would her boss be angry that she was away? If she called and changed her mind, would the weather cause her grief? Would Bruce be put in harm's way? What time was it?

She glanced at her alarm clock and at that very moment, the power failed. Gripping her blankets with white-knuckled urgency, she crawled further under their safety and tried to scare the panic monster away.

He was too hungry. Instead he devoured Henna's serenity like a starving dog attacking an unprotected store of meat.