A quote: “Throughout history, poverty is the normal condition of man. Advances which permit this norm to be exceeded — here and there, now and then — are the work of an extremely small minority, frequently despised, often condemned, and almost always opposed by all right-thinking people. Whenever this tiny minority is kept from creating, or (as sometimes happens) is driven out of a society, the people then slip back into abject poverty …
…This is known as “bad luck.” ~~ Robert Heinlein
I’ll start with a story …
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In that pearl grey before true dawn she stays abed and remembers grandfather’s stories.
He told of the city he grew up in, its soaring towers , moving sidewalks and flying cars.
“Just think!” he’d whisper, “what the future holds for you! By the time you’re grown the science outpost on Mars may be a city you’ll live in!”
Dawn breaks and she hears the call. She tucks his stories deep inside, reaches out a calloused hand to grab her hoe, throws on her burka and goes to wait for the horse-drawn cart that will take her to the fields.
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Now, it’s your turn.
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featured image by diversepixel, Adobe Stock Image, Standard License
Brian Brandt says: First World Problems –
“It’s just so unfair! You have no idea how hard I work!” She sat in front of my desk with the term paper in her hand. I had given her a ‘C.’ “My parents pay a lot of tuition . . . ”
Over her shoulder on the bookcase was the iron. In the Rare Earth Mineral Wars in the Congo we had a shortage of card decks. So our calling card, the ace of spades that we put in the mouth of every dead bush bunny – sorry, Irregular Indigenous Combatant – was in short supply. Using Yankee ingenuity we went to the local smith and had an iron ace made. I carried it in every sortie, and it got used to good effect. I remember the last one before I rotated out. She was about this coed’s age, wearing sandals made of an old tire, faded camo shorts, and a Philadelphia Eagles tee shirt. Her dead eyes looked at me as I put the brand on her forehead.
“. . . and my father’s company makes the solar panels that paid for the new gym . . . “
Fletch says: This is the city: Los Angeles, California – population 28 million.
It was Sunday, November 3. It was cool in Los Angeles. The chip implant freaks had left town to attend a cyber gathering in the Valley. We thought crime would plunge for the day, but we thought wrong.
Ten hundred hours – a woman named Rosheeda Abraham called to say she had seen a synth gang loitering near her air-car. Now the car was missing, and she wanted to file a report.
This kind of crime happens every day in the city of Los Angeles. I work here. My name’s Joe Friday. I carry a badge.
Tonight is the ninth-grade dance and my first date with Nancy. She is the best-looking girl in our class. I cannot believe that in a few hours I will be holding her in my arms and pressing close against her as we slow-dance across the gym floor. But I’ve got to do something about these hideous pimples and blackheads on my face. They appeared when I awoke this morning. I dare not squeeze or pop them.
Father walks into the bathroom and says, “Son, what are you doing with that magnifying glass held up against the mirror?”
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