Bubbling up from some subterranean storehouse of memory or dream came the story that would change the world, he hoped.

Our so-called betters were so much worse.

She wasn't clever, just smart.

The fight was never finished, merely a see-saw between the right and left.

As I lay bleeding, the life running out of me, I realized I was about to become another statistic.

She cried out in the wilderness, a lone voice amidst the wild things.

Change was the enemy and the ally.

There were some stories that stuck with you and hers was one of them.

They did everything they could to help in their own destruction.

She pulled the thread and watched the world come crashing down.

Bacon, Stan believed, was the food of the Gods.

The past and future were adept at murdering sleep but the present was the undisputed king due mostly to the never ending news cycle.

A constant sense of impending doom had become our common emotion.

Time and space meant something very different to the harried single mother working two jobs and living in a cramped apartment with three kids.

The summer came and went without so much as a day spent at the beach with the wind rustling through her hair or the feel of the sticky chill of a dripping ice cream cone on her hand.

Life, it seemed, had stalled for Luke who felt like he was in an airport waiting for a plane that would never arrive.

We prayed and paid to the new Gods of Upward Mobility and Fleeting Fame, but they were even less responsive than the ones we'd given up on.

Guns replaced civility.

Behind the hoopla and braggadocio beat the heart of a coward.

He attempted to blot out his personality and become nothing more than a mirror for whomever he spoke to.

Stolen moments were all they had left.

It was a time of marches against rallies against marches against rallies.

The signs were there, but we still refused to acknowledge the coming storm.

It seemed to Francis that the world was getting marginally dumber by the day.

Brett sometimes had trouble determining what were memories of actual events and what were merely half-remembered dreams.

The strays were adept at spotting a kind heart.

I paddled my board as a dragonfly hitched a ride, my small service to nature in the midst of its wholesale destruction at the hands of my kind.

She was lost in her own mind and unable to find a way out.

Where did it all go (those hours, that money, our lives)?

Time moved much too quickly those few final precious days spent together.

The dictator looked west for guidance.