Author Archives: James Pyles

B is for Boy

b is for boy

© James Pyles

Shelley helped Daniel get his carry on out of the overhead bin. Since he was only ten, she was the flight attendant who made sure he was taken care of on his plane trip from California to Idaho. Daniel hardly felt he needed the attention, and his parents remarked more than once that he was more organized than most thirty-year-olds, but the rules were the rules. Daniel could play the role of a typical child when it was needed.

“Have a good visit with your aunt and uncle, Daniel.” As he exited the aircraft for the jetway, Shelley bent over slightly and tousled his bushy blond hair. Daniel suppressed his annoyance.

“Thanks, Shelley. Have a safe flight.” He knew that sounded stupid, but after all, he was supposed to be a kid, so circumstances often demanded he act like one.

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A is for Airplane

a is for airplane

© James Pyles

This wasn’t Daniel’s first plane ride, but it was the first one he’d taken by himself. At age ten, his parents thought he was old enough to fly alone from their home in Newport Beach, California to visit his aunt and uncle in Idaho.

He’d been very careful to look at each passenger on the plane as they boarded, as well as all of the flight attendants. Daniel even managed a brief look into the cockpit. He was relieved that he didn’t see any anomalies. They weren’t common, but they weren’t particularly rare either. It was terrifying for the normally controlled and stoic child to be in close proximity to one for very long.

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The Unexpected Guest

fly

© A Mixed Bag

Jerry’s hobby of refurbishing used laptops provided him with a modest additional income and some interesting experiences.

“It’s amazing what some people will leave on their hard drives,” he murmured as he opened the lid to his latest acquisition, one he found at a yard sale.

He was used to finding all sorts of food stuffs, potato chip crumbs, flecks of sandwich meat, drops of soda pop, on and around laptop keyboards, but the insect was something new. What’s more, it was still alive.

“Hello, little guy. You must have been caught in their right before they closed the lid and put the laptop out. Good thing I didn’t wait until next week to get to you.”

The fly’s wings were barely fluttering. It was caught by a leg. It was only a fly but…

Jerry had a magnifying glass and light rig he wore on his head to let him do close work. He used his smallest tweezers to create a gap between the space bar and the keyboard housing. The fly was free and took off.

The young System’s Analyst opened the window of his second storey apartment and escorted his unexpected guest back to its native habitat.

I write this in response to the Sunday Photo Fiction challenge for April 30th. The idea is to write a piece of flash fiction based on the photo above that’s no more than 200 words long. Mine is at the max: 200 words.

I decided to write something simple but uplifting in response to the prompt. Not too many people would have let the fly go free, especially with all of its legs intact.

To read more stories based on this prompt, go to InLinkz.com.

Just Another Monday in Chicago

chicago

Michigan Avenue in Chicago

Walking down Michigan Avenue, Johnny remembered the meme, “Come to Chicago for the food, stay because you got murdered,” yet all he saw was another “hustle bustle” Monday morning in a big city.

Naturally he came prepared. This was mostly a vacation trip, but he did have one bit of business to attend to. There she was just ahead of him, about to cross the DuSable Bridge. It would be touchy in broad daylight, but with these crowds, he was confident he’d get away with it.

He slipped the small .22 out of his sleeve into his palm just as he caught up with her. He shoved the barrel into her back and fired, then kept walking. She collapsed against the bridge railing and then onto the sidewalk.

Another successful hit, this time on an NBC news exec. Now to lunch. He’d heard “The Purple Pig” had a great wine list.

Written for What Pegman Saw. The idea is to use the Google Maps photo prompt above to write a piece of flash fiction no more than 150 words long. My word count is exactly 150.

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

Every Sunday at Table 19

table 19

© Dawn M. Miller

Dave closed his soda shop on Sundays for two reasons. As a devout Christian, he believed Sunday was the Sabbath and he refused to do business on Christ’s holy day.

The second reason was more complicated. He knew they needed to have some time just the two of them. Each Saturday night, right after he closed, Dave put two empty paper cups at their favorite table, number 19. When he opened up Monday morning, the cups were disposed of in the trash, one cup containing the residue of cherry soda, and the other an orange crush.

Nine-year-old Sara and her six-year-old sister Leigh died ten years ago in a car accident just a few blocks from their Grandpa’s soda shop. Weeks later, Dave noticed his supply of cherry soda and orange crush diminishing. Paper cups went missing, and the chairs at table 19 kept moving around.

Dave asked why they weren’t in Jesus’s loving hands but Heaven didn’t answer.

Maybe they missed their Grandpa and his sodas too much to go, at least for now.

I wrote this for the FFfAW Challenge-Week of April 25, 2017. The idea is to use the photo above as a prompt to write a piece of flash fiction between 100 and 175 words long with 150 being the ideal. My word count is 173.

I’ve been thinking of my Dad’s passing recently and am very happy to be back home to be with my two grandchildren. I suppose that all got woven into the fabric of this tale.

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

Anne

grave

© Liz Young

Her grave was one of the few to survive the uprising. Earth defeated the invaders in the Revolution of ’48.

I can barely make out ‘Anne’ on the gravestone. She was thirty when she died, one of the millions killed in the uprising. Only because my project was so secret did she think I died during the first alien attack.

It’s been decades since Earth became free, and the new government eventually found records of my experiment and sent rescuers. The equipment was still working when they woke me from decades of cryogenic sleep.

I wish I’d died with my daughter.

Written for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ Friday Fictioneers photo writing challenge for April 28, 2017. The idea is to write a piece of flash fiction based on the photo above that is no more than 100 words long. My word count is 100.

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

The Winner

lottery ticket

© Scientific American

“I won! I won!”

Benny knew he was embarrassing himself but he didn’t care. As he walked past the State Lottery office, he jumped up and down while raising his arms in victory, like a prize-fighter who had won a boxing match that he was expected to lose.

“I won!”

He wore an exceedingly wide smile as he walked down the street. He still couldn’t believe he now owned the biggest reward anyone could possibly receive. All of his worries were over. He’d never have to fret about his future fate again. It was all taken care of.

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The Cherry Blossoms Are Blooming

garden

© John Brand

I used to hate gardening, but that was before. Now I find it gives me a sense of peace. I remember that he liked gardening. He found it relaxing, even in the heat of the day, which used to drive me crazy.

I wear his old gardening hat. The brim shields my face and removes the glare from my eyes.

It’s springtime, the season of life. The cherry blossoms are in bloom. I have to clean them up of course, but now instead of just being work, it’s a duty and a privilege. I use his old wheelbarrow, the one that reminds me of the difference between belief and faith.

I hadn’t realized how deep his faith ran, while all I had to fall back on was belief and an intellectual’s arguments to defend it.

His death shook me in a way I hadn’t anticipated. It’s tremors disturbed my beliefs and threw me into the deep waters of faith. I drowned in that faith, and rose again like my Dad will someday in the resurrection, just like trees bloom again in the spring.

I wrote this as part of the Sunday Photo Fictioner challenge. The idea is to use the photo above as a prompt to write a piece of flash fiction no more than 200 words long. My word count is 183.

As some of you may know, my Dad died suddenly last Wednesday afternoon. My brother and I have been going through Dad’s things and our Dad never seemed to have thrown away anything. It’s been quite a chore.

But it has let us know our Dad in a way we never really did before. We discovered his passions, his habits, and how he saw his life. Unlike the story above, he wasn’t quite the avid gardener I’ve painted, but in viewing the green and growing things in my parent’s house, and now it’s my Mom’s house, I find hope for the future, a transition from belief to faith.

Oh, in the body of the story, I included a link to an essay I wrote based on a parable of a man who pushed a wheelbarrow across a tight rope. I think it is quite illuminating.

To read more stories based on the prompt, go to InLinkz.com.

The Old Phoenix and His Ashes

Gary woke up from the nightmare in a cold sweat. It was the same dream every night for the past week. He saw a man burning. The burning man was wailing. He reached out for Gary. His flaming hand almost touching his face.

Then Gary would wake up in a cold sweat.

He had just gotten his first job out of college as a mechanical engineer. The company had him move to Philadelphia, and for the next year, he would be helping to design a new generation of popcorn maker for movie theaters.

“It’s probably just the move. I’m in a strange place. That’s it.”

Gary got out of bed, then looked at the clock, and realized it was only 4 a.m. He could sleep for another few hours.

“Nah.” He headed toward the bathroom of his studio apartment. “Just have to keep drinking coffee to keep going.”

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Back to Life

shoes and books

© Magaly Guerrero

She pulled her grandmother’s shoes out of the packing case, dusted, and then polished them. Leah regretted neglecting her passion, the one she learned from Grand Mama. Mendel had been such a good husband and they had a wonderful life together, but looking back, she had devoted all of her life to his pursuits. Poor, dear Mendel passed last month, and it was time for her to pull her art books and paints out from under the vase and put them to good use again. It was time for Leah to live for herself.

I wrote this for The Friday Fictioneers photo writing challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. The idea is to use the photo above as a prompt to write a piece of flash fiction no more than 100 words long. My word count is 86.

To read more photos based on the prompt, go to InLinkz.com.