I awoke early, desperate to see some meaning in the sunrise.
She wondered for perhaps the millionth time: why do I always muddy my attempts to be clear?
It was a soul-penetrating fog that conjured a constellation of nightmares.
He observed that each member of the group seemed as contented as the next to shout about nothing.
In a complete mockery of photosynthesis, the fake tree was dragged outside by its trunk into the sunlight.
Thusly armed with a bottle of mineral water and an armful of paper towels, she turned on her heel toward the filthy car.
As he walked past the pair of shoes–one casually draped over a post, the other tread up on the sidewalk–the memory of evening shenanigans rushed to his immediate thoughts.