Change came like a semi with bad brakes hurtling down a mountain road.

Depression and fanaticism were kindred spirits, Ivan realized during the rally.

Away from the party with its peels of gay laughter echoing through the mansion, he sat for a moment in quiet contemplation wondering if he'd created a persona or a cage.

"You're like Beethoven unable to hear his greatest works performed," Elizabeth told me, "you're deaf to the beauty you're capable of, but unlike the great composer you can do something about it."

The food was exceptional, the atmosphere stunning, but her date, pallid in every sense, had her wishing she'd just stayed home, where this very minute she could be eating takeout Chinese and channel surfing in her pajamas.

The unprovoked attacks against the protestors continued unabated but only spurred on more everyday people to pour into the streets and join them.

With death sitting on his chest grinning at him, Donny realized all the money in the world couldn't save him.

The notebook found on the street revealed the plans for the coup but who it belonged to was never determined.

The crunching of the leaves underfoot and the smoke lazily drifting from the chimneys helped him forget about the world's crushing problems for a few minutes.

We spend more time caring about—and staring at—the stars of the Hollywood variety than the ones directly above our heads.

I wondered what part of our diet was the worst for us, the sex, violence, sugar or instant gratification.

The world was a game show in which entire countries were being voted off.

That mundane conversation continued to pinball through Dave's brain for years afterward even though it held no significance he could discern.

We yearned for a past that only existed on television.

When death finally caught up with her he was out of breath.

I listened to the music, now more than thirty years old, and wondered where all the time in between had gone.

The window was open wide, but his wounded heart was shut tight and kept him from feeling the cool morning air on his face, hearing the birds sing praises to the sun, or smelling the freshness of the dew-drenched trees and grass.

She played the piano to the point of exhaustion, her fingers bloody, but still they weren't satisfied.

Communal living wasn't for Tim as he hated washing other people's dishes.

The novelists hated the essayists who despised the bloggers who loathed the Twitterati who scoffed at cat videos, the makers of which wanted nothing more than to break into the movie business, yet secretly detested film directors who looked down their noses at everyone except novelists.

"Freedom ain't free," he shouted in her face, spittle flying, as he prevented the woman from exercising her right to free expression.

With every milestone he achieved Matthew could only see the next challenge that lay ahead.

Her life played out on social media, a star in her own mind and on the feeds of her fewer and fewer friends.

The Greek chorus had become the peanut gallery had become Internet trolls.

The government redacted the facts but couldn't manage to wholly erase the truth.

Helen's jaunts into the city that had once been a thrilling adventure in her twenties had become a stomach-churning and fear-inducing struggle two decades later.

He read the newspaper for entertainment and got all his news at the barbershop.

Jim's tattoo of a dotted line with scissors that read "cut here" eventually caught up with him.

"Love will always conquer hate," read the trampled and bloodstained sign.

He lay in bed listening to the howling wind, which seemed to be whispering something about the changing season just under its breath.