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.