This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “the 23 enigma” cc&d (v263) (the June 2016 issue, v263, the 23 year anniversary issue) You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book:

Order this writing in the book Clouds over the Moon the cc&d Jan. - June 2016 collection book		get the 318 page Jan. - June 2015 cc&d magazine issue collection 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Order this writing in the book the Chamber (the 2016 poetry, flash fiction, prose & artwork anthology)		get the 420 page poem, flash fiction & prose collection / anthology as a 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Night

Steven K. Smith

    I walked across the campus, through the student union, past the campus radio station’s studio, towards the underground parking garage. A young woman walked ahead of me by some three to five paces.
    As we entered the hall and the door closed behind us, she looked back, then turned quickly forward again, having seen my graying beard and dark brown hair, and a frame a head taller than herself.
    She walked ahead of me and we both passed the elevator and took the stairs. She looked back again, then quickly turned, eyes front. As the door at the top of the stairway closed behind us, she quickened her pace.
    We passed the elevator and took the stairs. I slowed my steps as she quickened her pace. I cursed whoever had so frightened this woman that now she feared a man probably older than her father; that she felt she had to flee an aging poetry student.
    The distance between us began to increase. At the bottom of the stairway she stiff-armed the door and hurried through the garage. I strolled out, still following her path through the rows of parked cars, but farther behind with each step.
    She hurried through the parking garage and jumped into a van parked beside my car. Still moving the same direction as she, I strolled past cars parked in rows. A few seconds later I reached my own car as well.
    From the driver’s seat of the van she stared wide-eyed at me as I approached. I turned my gaze toward the dash as I sat, fitting in the ignition key, looking anywhere but toward the frightened young woman.
    Her wide, nervous eyes never left me. I wanted to shout my innocence to her, but I knew such a protest would only make it worse. Her stare has convicted me. There can be no appeal, no clemency.
    I just waited in my car as she pulled out and left, not following her out of the garage immediately. The van had a bumper sticker: “Take back the night.”
    I want the night back too.

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