Author Archives: James Pyles

Why Does My Wine Glass Look Like That?

glasses

© A Mixed Bag 2013

Johnny B. and his two companions in “crime” had a merry time of it in first class on their way from London to Sydney. He was late the villain of a popular CW television series, and now taking his musical show on the road, or rather in the air, and he wanted to have a good time. Unfortunately, most of the other people in the aircraft’s exclusive section took a dim view of the three adults behaving like self-indulgent adolescents.

Of course, he took to twitter to humiliate them as was his right as one living out loud and up front.

But sleep had taken everyone eventually. For John, insomnia was a close companion, and eventually, whilst the other passengers were slumbering, he had awakened. Johnny looked at the still half-full cup of wine on his tray. The liquid inside wouldn’t be at that angle unless the aircraft was in a steep dive.

Then the speakers crackled to life. “Ladies and Gentlemen…”

I wrote this for the Sunday Photo Fiction challenge for April 22nd 2018. The idea is to take the image above and use it as the inspiration for crafting a piece of flash fiction no more than 200 words long. My word count is 162.

I follow actor John Barrowman on twitter, and this tweet of his made me wonder what had actually transpired. I consider commercial aircraft to be “libraries with wings,” and yes, I do enjoy a modicum of quiet (children notwithstanding, me being a Dad and Grandpa).

I also recall seeing a single panel comic strip I read some decades ago depicting an aircraft passenger looking at the glass on his tray, with the liquid being tilted at an angle indicating the plane was in a steep dive.

Together, that formed today’s tale.

To read other stories inspired by the prompt, go to InLinkz.com.

Sacrifice

spider-man

The cover art for Spider-Man issue 33 (1963)

“You’re going to be fine. Just hang in there. We’ve got heavy equipment coming. We’ll have the two of you out of there in an hour.”

“What?”

Ben Howard was on his knees. How did he get here? Wait. The earthquake. The little girl was going to be killed. Somehow he managed to push her in a hollow space as tons of concrete and steel rained down around them. What was that about heavy equipment?

“Can you hear me?”

Ben opened his eyes, not realizing they’d been closed. There was an opening in the rubble just in front of him. A firefighter. That’s who was talking to him.

The girl! He looked down. She was unconscious but breathing, thank God. Oh no.

“She’s not going to make it. Damn it! I didn’t push her all the way clear. An artery got nicked. She’ll bleed out. You’ve got to do something.”

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The Girl Who Liked Pteranodons

turu

Title card for the 1964 episode of Jonny Quest, “Turu the Terrible”

“Grandpa, I want to color.” The almost three-year-old girl showed the new box of crayons to the old man.

“But I thought you said you wanted to go to the park after dinner.”

Her blue eyes brightened. “I go to the park.” She dropped the box on the floor and went hunting for her shoes.

“Hey, wait a minute, Danni. Can you put the crayons away?”

She stopped in mid-stride, anticipating her liberty, wheeled around and ran back. “Oh yeah.”

They left by the side door, and she spent several minutes examining the air conditioner before being escorted by her Grandpa out the gate and to the sidewalk.

As the luminous ball of gas lighting the world slid slowly toward the western horizon, he watched her play on slides, climb ladders, and try to imitate a much older girl who was hanging upside down from the bars. Danni didn’t get very far, but she had a lot of fun introducing Regan to her Grandpa.

That night, after the child had brushed her teeth and put on her pajamas, the old man and the little girl shared one of his fondest memories from childhood on DVD; a couple of episodes of Jonny Quest. She really liked the show with the Pteranodon.

I wrote this for the Saturday Mix writing challenge at Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie. The idea is to take five words and use their synonyms in the body of a story. The original words are:

  1. paint
  2. release
  3. fan
  4. light
  5. clothes

I’ve bolded the synonyms I used in my tale to make them easier to spot.

I thought about the angst I expressed yesterday over what has been perceived as bigotry and prejudice against politically and socially conservative writers by the mainstream science fiction and fantasy industry, and after a lot of thought, and then writing another piece fo flash fiction this morning called The Unknown Children, I realized the world had much bigger problems for me to be concerned about.

The story above is a compressed version of how I spent yesterday afternoon and evening with my granddaughter. Yes, she really likes the old 1964 animated TV series Jonny Quest, which I watched when I was young, and especially one called Turu the Terrible.

If anyone wants to judge me, fairly or otherwise, they can judge me by what I write and by my humanity and compassion, and if I’m still not good enough, then I’d say they have a much bigger problem than I’ll ever have.

The Unknown Children

botswana

Hwy A3 – Botswana – Google maps – 2012

Six-year-old Otilia cried herself to sleep every night for the past two weeks, ever since mother sold her to the man. The man took her and four other children in a truck, hiding them in big boxes. Now she was at her new home, the mansion of a rich man in Gaborone.

The maid gave her a bath and new clothes so she could meet him. He was sitting behind a desk in a big library when the maid took her in. Otilia stood in front of the desk. The maid left and closed the door.

He was a big man, and his voice was booming. “You look like you’ll make a fine domestic.”

Otilia was supposed to call him “Mr. Mlalazi,” but she was too scared to talk as he stood and walked toward her.

“First, your initiation, though.” He unzipped his trousers and cold fear gripped the child.

I wrote this for the What Pegman Saw writing challenge. The idea is to take a Google maps location and image and use them as the inspiration for crafting a piece of flash fiction no more than 150 words long. My word count is 150.

Today, the Pegman takes us to Botswana in Africa. Botswana is a big country with a long history, so I had to find a way to narrow things down a bit. I finally looked up current news stories and found one on child trafficking. As it turns out, human trafficking in Botswana is an enormous problem. All I had to do was read a few sentences and I had my story.

I called this story “the unknown children” because we hardly ever hear about this astonishing tragedy from western news agencies. Someone has to tell their story.

To read other tales based on the prompt, visit InLinkz.com.

Am I Wasting My Time Trying to Become a Published Science Fiction/Fantasy Author?

news source bias
I read a wide variety of information sources, including conservative and liberal news, social media, and blogging outlets, in an effort to stay informed. I find that no one bias tends to render the world as it truly exists (in my opinion), so I try to find a balance between them all.

Finding that balance isn’t easy, since the creators of these information sources don’t seem to want to understand any viewpoint that differs even slightly from their own.

Okay, that probably isn’t fair, but that’s how it seems as I do my reading.

I put an image at the top of this blog post to illustrate the relative biases of the significant news agencies (I don’t necessarily agree with the exact positioning of some of these “elements,” but overall, it’s a pretty good indicator).

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Duel at Orholt

waiting

© Sue Vincent

There was the clatter of two pieces of wood rapidly striking each other, occasionally punctuated by a boy’s voice crying, “Ow!”

It was after another day of hiking, another day in the wilderness, climbing steadily up from the seashore into low hills, heading back toward the Dark Hills which were in fact mountains.

It was after another meal cooked by campfire, and young bellies now accustomed to wild game were satisfied (except for little Zooey who insisted on only fruits and vegetables similar to what a mouse or rabbit might consume). A nearby stream provided fresh water to slake thirst and for much needed, if chilly, bathing.

By the light of the fire and the stars, the Davidson children sat watching the two combatants earnestly plying their trade, or trying anyway.

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Love Ain’t Nothing But Sex Misspelled

first kiss

Found at vintage.storymirror.com

With apologizes to Harlan Ellison.

Jeremy was her first real boyfriend. They’d been holding hands while walking to the bus stop after school for a month. Elisa knew her Mom and Dad wouldn’t let her date until she was 16, but that was almost a year away.

What would it be like to kiss him? She’d dreamed about her first kiss ever since she was little. Would he be the man she would marry? Would they have lots of kids and live happily ever after?

They took different buses to get home after school and her’s came first.

“See you tomorrow, Jeremy.”

“Bye, Elisa.”

She could tell he wanted to kiss her good-bye, but not with all these people watching. It would be embarrassing. Besides, when they kissed for the first time, she wanted it to be something special.

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Castaway on Piller Island

eggs

© MorgueFile 1416928925r3kcx

Nelson Lawrence Simon had been living the dream, sailing around the world in his 36 foot sloop until his rudder chain broke during a storm. The spare, which he thought he’d packed so carefully, had been exposed to four months of salt and moisture and had rusted.

Current washed him up on the north shore of an island, Piller, according to his charts. There was some sort of electrical interference that was jamming his radio, but he saw structures in the distance, so maybe someone lived here.

Simon was halfway up what looked to be an abandoned trail when he spotted the nest. He brought provisions with him, but it had been a long time since he had fresh eggs.

“Damn. Too late.” He watched as the first of the eggs broke open, but wasn’t prepared for the emergence of the occupant.

“What? I thought alligators laid eggs closer to water.”

As a shadow fell over him from behind, he realized it wasn’t an alligator. He turned and had just enough time to recognize a velociraptor from those “Jurassic” movies before he was messily devoured, well mostly. The rest of him would feed her hungry brood.

I wrote this for the Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner writing challenge. The idea is to use the image above to inspire the creation of a piece of flash fiction no more than 200 words long. My word count is 195.

I saw the eggs and was crestfallen, because I didn’t want to write about bird eggs. Then I decided to leverage my series of stories based on The Kaala Experiment, a time travel device that’s gone wrong and brought a whole bunch of dinosaurs forward to the present on an island in the South Pacific. Nelson Lawrence Simon never had a chance.

To read other stories based on the prompt, visit InLinkz.com.

Roger’s link up still needs a lot of love, so please consider contributing a story. Thanks.

Everybody’s Got to Have a Hobby

kayak

© Douglas M. MacIlroy

He always took a photo at the end of each job as a keepsake. He’d taken out Frankie “the Weasel” Puleo, who WITSEC squirreled away out here renting cheap kayaks.

It was just a job. Last month, it was a Federal Judge. Next time, it might be a State Senator or a rival drug dealer. No matter as long as he got paid.

Ed wasn’t a great photographer, but he enjoyed it. He just had enough time to make his flight. Helen said the kids were having choir practice at St. Andrews and he didn’t want to miss it.

I wrote this for the Rochelle Wisoff-Fields writing challenge. The idea is to use the image above as the inspiration for crafting a piece of flash fiction no more than 100 words long. My word count is 99.

I couldn’t figure out what the object in the foreground was (some kind of torch or lantern?), so I focused on the structure, the truck, and the kayaks in back. The rest sort of evolved from there.

Oh, WITSEC is the Witness Security Program, otherwise known as the Federal Witness Protection Program, operated by the US Marshall’s service.

To read other stories based on the prompt, visit InLinkz.com.

The Bunny in the Bow Tie

bow tie bunny

Found at Etsy

Ana kept chasing after the small dragon and then realized she was no longer in her room. In fact, she wasn’t sure she was even on Earth. It was early morning wherever she was, and the nine-year-old girl was freezing.

She looked around and she seemed to be in the mountains. There were trees, bushes, and other plant life. There was a trail beneath her feet, but it didn’t seem to lead back or lead to home or even any buildings. She was totally in the wilderness and the dragon she’d been running after was nowhere in sight.

Ana was still in her pajamas and barefoot which didn’t help matters any. Then, when she heard the voice behind her, she nearly jumped ten feet in the air.

“Hey, Dollface. You lost?”

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