The air was dry as I imagined the sun setting low atop the mountain's bed. Our clothes were torn, covered in a soot so thick you could shake it off. And it was difficult to breathe as the dust filled my lungs and I spit to get it off my tongue. Clouds of black filled the horizon, wrapping its long devilish fingers in the direction of our town.

It was time to leave. Our nation's attempt to capitalize on a crop to save us from The War has turned its ugly head. We've been damned, left with no rain - no water, but the tears that fall from children's eyes. And although we've lost ten to the monsters of these plains, those steel trackers sit untouched atop land that our nation once referred to as "chocolate."

It's time to leave. Time to try and outrun the beast we've created; to save the lives of the innocents we dragged along with us.

Welcome to Evolution of America, 2009. Here is where you will be creating your own journals for this class. Feel free to be as open and creative as you would like.