It's because fear sells. It's because war is sport. And it's also very good business. - Hugh Howey

We are all of us — everywhere and at all times — mere visitors.

Time slipped away in a familiar manner, and love dwindled as it was tossed back and forth in the form of arguments. It could only go away, everything she saw and everywhere she looked. Money. It disappeared from her accounts no matter how hard she tried to save. Time and love and wealth and anything worth building or wrapping one’s arms around, trying to hold on to it all, eroding like the cascade of sand between two palms, stolen by the breeze.

Her mother, buried. A town, lost. A small group of men, somewhere out there, cheering.