After the wreck, we survived off the dead with an eye towards the weakest of the survivors.

Dave made a concerted effort to dumb himself down hoping to connect with the current zeitgeist.

Priscilla couldn't relate to people who thought of food only as a means to an end rather than a wonderful journey to be taken three times a day.

We hated complicated issues and so we raised up a simple man with simple ideas and complicated the issues further.

Your dreams are my nightmares.

I passed her on the street that morning not knowing that soon she would alter my life in ways that I wouldn't understand for years to come.

Thanksgiving dinner devolved into a drunken fisticuffs between Bill's flag-waving father and his hippie uncle who had recently given up his pacifist stance.

I crossed the border that night crawling on my bloody hands and knees through scrub and cacti.

Reality television wasn't real but television had become our reality with the election of a celebrity.

While we argued over petty grievances Rome burned.

In the stillness of the Quaker meeting house her mind finally began to quiet down.

Empathy was dead.

Even the cute pet videos seemed tainted by the election.

Every year Frank's world shrunk a little more until it was nothing but his nursing home bed.

We forgot our past, misunderstood the present, and laid plans to ruin the future.

The blank walls of his prison cell became a canvas where he could imagine a different life for himself.

News of another bombing from across the world came floating through the radio while Nick argued with his wife over what they should have for breakfast.

The flag, torn and fraying at the ends, continued to wave.

Like Icarus, we hadn't heeded the warnings and for our arrogance the nation plummeted to earth, our wings aflame.

The poets died off and were replaced by commercial jingle writers.

Elizabeth woke November 9 to a country she no longer understood, and too tired to fight, began packing.

I've been unable to wake from this nightmare.

That morning, across the country people prayed that their candidate would win believing God was on their side.

Driving through town past the burned out buildings, deserted downtown, and shuttered shops, I wondered who would be able to help.

That year, truth—hunted to near extinction for decades—finally went the way of the passenger pigeon.

He was the kind of guy who would crack open the bones of adventure to suck out the marrow. RIP English Craig.

Walking in the forest in that golden hour she was able to forget, at least for a little while, her and the world's problems.

The fractures allowed the hidden hatred to bubble up to the surface like a sticky black tar that sucked at our feet, staining us all.

He finished writing down what he believed the next generation, if it survived, would need, just as the vandals beat down the front gates.

Halloween was over but in the dorm that morning the hangovers, bits of smeared makeup, and the hazy memories of random hookups, remained.