Backsliding towards the Dark Ages, it was if the Renaissance had never occurred.

Our heads were buried in the virtual world and didn't notice the real world's death throes.

Addicted to entertainment, the whole world became our Circus Maximus.

Their wistfulness was for a bygone era that only existed in the movies.

Dazzled by dreams of unmitigated success, Daniel managed to die early as a middle manager with an unmet mortgage and the debt of a small island nation.

Would we ever have enough?

They talked of scorpions and desert blooms and the unique feeling of slowly dying of thirst.

Frank bought a monkey and a typewriter in the misguided belief the animal would eventually write him a bestseller. 

They reserved their dinner conversation to the weather, thinking the subject was safe, until cousin Brad spouted off about "bunk science," which was about the time the fistfight erupted.

Vincent just couldn't comprehend the modern world and as it turned out was just fine without it.

There was as much goodness and love in the world as there was evil and hatred, but it just didn't make for any decent headlines.

There was nothing quite like strumming a guitar on a cold Monday morning as the mourning doves cooed softly in the background.

"Thanks to Fox there's no such thing as truth anymore, only opinion," he smiled and rubbed his hands together vigorously,"and that means I'm free to do and say whatever comes to mind."

Our brains got fat on the fast food of the Internet.

Like a virginal snow obscuring the feculence beneath, they hid their darkest beliefs under a veil of self righteousness but as a thaw reveals what was once cloaked we began to see the truth.

You could taste the fear on the wind that morning.

The electronic lifeline that kept Elise connected to the world was quickly fraying.

For once she just wanted to be happy and forget about the world's problems for a short time but no matter where she went reality kept creeping in.

We closed our eyes to the coming cataclysm and blamed our tears on the smoke from the ceaseless wildfires.

The war to end all wars was just the beginning.

Two days before Ike died he discovered his life's mission and managed to pack in quite a lot as a grave digger in his final forty-eight hours.

The world burned.

The semiautomatic gunfire was drowned out by the droning on of the officials.

Made fat on the fears of the gullible, their pockets full to bursting with blood money, they felt invincible.

The ghosts of his disenfranchised ancestors stood with him in the voting booth that day.

The perfect words had rattled around Priscilla's brain for days but when she finally put pen to paper it was as if a thick fog had seeped into her mind obscuring everything except for the simplest sentences that didn't even make sense.

Their ever escalating attempts to suppress us only made us more determined.

She had believed the old man would be a sort of guru who could provide her with sage advice but she quickly realized he was just a lech hoping to get in her pants.

He thought too highly of snakes and reptiles in general to compare his opponent to one.

As the flaming bottle left my hand I wondered how I could have possibly ended up here.