Author: J K Metz

Many times I've wondered how new technology might change our world – both for the good and the bad? Over the years I've watched the world change with many new technological advances. I'm inspired by headlines about emerging technology and how it might affect the lives of ordinary people.

Still On The Battlefield

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Photo by Hannah Skelly on Unsplash

I gasped and jerked awake. Cold sweat covered every inch of my body; my heart and head pounded from the adrenaline rush. At least this time tears weren’t streaming down my cheeks or a blood curdling scream escaping from my lips. The doctors would say that this was progress. I would say that they don’t have a clue.

It’s been two years since I watched my platoon mates and their hummer be blown to bits. It had been hit by an IED. The hummer was instantly set ablaze. Patrick was the only one to emerge semi intact. He was fully engulfed in flames and missing an arm. He must have been the one who let out that unearthly scream as he collapsed into a heap on the ground. The others were strewn about in pieces. There was nothing I could have done to save any of them.

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Learning To Be Human

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Photo by Mimi Garcia on Unsplash

Like any other ordinary work day, my husband and I were talking on the phone. We would do this during our respective rides home to catch up on the day’s events. “I’ll pick up milk on my home,” Jim said.

“Thanks hon…what the…?” I stammered.

“Are you okay?” his voice changed from normal to one of concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine, but the landscape just changed in a matter of moments. The sky changed to a deep purple and there’s two moons in the sky!”

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The Downstairs Neighbor

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Photo by Isaac Jarnagin on Unsplash

Clack, clack, stomp. Clack, clack, stomp.

Oh, that kid upstairs is at it again. She gives me such a headache. The whole lot of them needs to move. Those noisy kids have been at it for more than two months. That’s too enough. At least the two older kids stay away now. What to do about that little one, thought the downstairs neighbor. I was here first. They need to go.

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Changing Faces

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Photo by Church of the King on Unsplash

A new rider occupied one of the two sideways facing seats on the bus. Sideways seats hold two adults very comfortably or three uncomfortably. This woman had angled herself and bags so no one could sit with her. She sat with her arms crossed scowled at each person who walked by her, including me.

I sat down across from her, keeping my sunglasses on. She looked like she could take on a grown man in a dark alley and win. Also the type to ride as far as at the Porter Street freeway overpass. The bus normally takes the freeway the entire way from downtown to an outer southwestern suburb. It hasn’t since road construction started earlier this year.

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Reset

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Photo by Russ Ward on Unsplash

For the past few months, Julie had been feeling beaten down by life in general. The latest of those punches: her mother hospitalized for pneumonia, her brother slid off an icy road and totaled his car, and the boss recently made her his pet project to pick apart. As Julie stepped into the office building’s elevator, she experienced some of her worst nightmares.

Julie stepped into the empty elevator, selected the fifteenth floor, and the doors glided shut. The elevator dropped about a foot and jolted to a stop; Julie fell to the floor. “No, no, no,” she screamed at the elevator. “Why me? Why now?”

She knee walked to the doors and began pounded on them. “Hey, can anyone hear me? Anyone? I need help.” Julie slumped back on her heels, buried her face in her hands and sobbed. The intolerable silence inside the elevator forced her into action. She wiped her face with her hands and then wipe them on to her pants. Now on her feet, she straightened her clothes and looked for a way out.

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Seventies Car Nostalgia

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Photo by Dan Gold on Unsplash

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” a man said from behind me. “I bet you haven’t seen a car like this one, have ya?” A gray haired man sidled up next to me and rubbed the black vinyl roof of the old green car. Our eyes met. He had to be in his mid-seventies, old enough to be my dad.

“Actually, I have seen a car like this one. Even the same color of green. I drove it for a couple of years.”

“Nah, really? You don’t look old enough to have driven car this old. Bet you don’t even know what type of car this is.” He cocked his head and winked. “No peeking. Take a wild guess.”

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Close But She’s No Mary

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Photo by Adan Guerrero on Unsplash

The damp grit crunched under my non-slip, geriatric style shoes as I walked the three blocks from Methodist Hospital to my studio apartment. Hopefully, the street sweepers will clean up the grime next month. Cigarette butts, beer cans, and fast food wrappers dotted the curbside on either side of Fillmore Street. Too bad this morning’s downpour didn’t wash much of it away. Instead it glued it to the pavement.

The air smelled of rain and the dull gray clouds threatened to open up again. The humid air made my laundry uniform cling tighter to my sweaty body. A shower would feel wonderful, but my studio doesn’t have one – only has a clawfoot tub.

Ugh, as usual, smoking dude is out front. I don’t want to talk to him today. Why isn’t he working somewhere? He doesn’t appear disabled. Unemployment doesn’t pay enough for him to chain smoke his Swisher Sweets. Maybe he smokes instead of eats, he’s awfully thin.

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Sam Is Here To Help You

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Photo by Przemyslaw Marczynski on Unsplash

Mildred, my seventy-five-year-old neighbor, greeted me at her door. “Oh, you’re so sweet. Thank you for picking up my groceries.” She alternately shuffled and scooted back from the door with her walker.”

“No trouble. I was stopping by there on my way home from work.” I slipped past her and around the corner to set the bag on the counter. A small cylindrical device on the counter lit up with a sequence of purple and blue lights before fading to a dull gray.

Shuffle, thump, shuffle, thump. Mildred hurried up beside me. “Don’t squish Sam.” She slid the bag to the side so a gap remained between the bag and the cylinder. “Sam, say hello to Marci.”

The device glowed white. “Hello, Marci.”

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Lucky

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Photo by freestocks.org on Unsplash

My five-year-old granddaughter, Trudy, held out an ornament of a puppy wearing a Santa hat. “Grandma, why do you have a Christmas ornament out? It isn’t Christmas.” She giggled as it swayed on its golden hanging thread.

I lifted her into my lap. She smelled of the outdoors and fruit punch. “Oh, you found Lucky,” I said. Trudy deposited the ornament into my hand. “Lucky and I go way back.” I rubbed the side of his face with my thumb. My mind wandered back to forty years earlier. That ornament and I had survived a horrible night a week before Christmas at the hands of my ex-husband, Carl.

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Popcorn the Temptress

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Photo by Lynda Sanchez on Unsplash

Oh, the air in the theater oozes with the smell of buttered popcorn. I inhale deeply a few times thinking that will satisfy me. I’m literally drooling as I pass the concession counter. My belly rumbles a loud protest.

Nope, not this time. It’s not on my diet. But I could start again tomorrow. I’ll even have a diet pop with it. No, I’ll do better than that. I’ll get a bottle of water. I get in line and wait.

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