A pink scar across twilight was the upturned slice of moon over Oxford's hills, hanging in the sky on a terrible night.

I am the terrible night.

Although sunset's rust stains pale clouds, night drains their color. Heavy tar darkness comes as the thin moon stretches higher -- a broken eggshell in the stars.

I am the terrible night.

Lily whimpers as our voices rage. The other dogs follow her into shadows and small pockets of quiet where they shrink against corners.

I am the terrible night.

Angry from nothing and frustrated from nowhere, I scream against a terrible night. Otherwise happy people slam doors, regret their words, and wish to forget the world until morning.

I am the terrible night.