Miniature Fiction

Each morning, Tom minutely examined his pillow case.  With care, he recovered the residue of his lost dreams in the hopes of someday being able to reform them.

- Stephen L. Thompson

Follow Stephen L. Thompson on Twitter @oneoveralpha and find his works on Amazon  Here

Nebraska, headache, you’re fired, well, one of you is fired, get out of here — it all happened on TV, just as the embers of a hallucinatory memory from the recesses of his sleep said it would. And he thought of how time went round and round and round and round, and he wondered if he’d remember all this the next time around and around.

- C.D. Carter

Follow @CDCarter13

We bought a state-of-the-art, top-of-the-line, terribly overpriced noise machine for the baby’s room, a recommended purchase for any parent hoping to replicate the comfort of the womb for their sleepless bundle of joy. I lie there in bed one night, so tired I couldn’t sleep, the baby monitor nearby, when I first heard the words of advice speak to me from somewhere in the simulated rain sounds of the infant’s noise machine. Barely audible, I strained to listen to every syllable whispering beneath the burst of sound, and finally heard its message: “Draft Lamar Miller.”

- C.D. Carter

C.D. Carter is a reporter, author of zombie stories, writer for The Fake Football and Sports Jerks. Fantasy Sports Writers Association member. His work  has been featured in the New York Times. Follow C.D. on Twitter @CDCarter13

C.D. Carter has also recently been writing about how poker can be applied to fantasy sports, check it out… Poker Lessons Applied to Fantasy Football

Bees, it always has to be bees; why must it always involve bees?

Of course they didn’t understand, how could they? No one could understand why I was addicted to sleeping pills and was knocked out for 19 hours everyday. When I sleep I dream, and dreams are the only place she’s still alive.

I could feel my sanity slipping as I woke up from another night of dreamless sleep. On the rare occasion that I did dream, it was a nightmare. Daily I prayed to the Sandman, the King of Dreams, but to no avail.

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I’ve been separated from my pack and I’m lost without them. Everything I am belongs to the pack, so I do the only thing I know that might bring them back to me. I plant my feet, lift my snout high into the air and howl, howl and howl and howl, desperate for my family to find me again; for I am truly lost.

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Most men dreamt of fame, money, fortune, women, or perhaps sports glory or killing a hated enemy in mortal combat in front of thousands. His day dreams, spare time and even his real dreams were dominated by thoughts big truck beds, four wheel drive, towing capacities, chrome bumpers, horsepower, torque and the intricacies of finding the perfect exhaust note. Although…. if he really considered it, killing a hated enemy in mortal combat probably could be done with a truck. 

Finally, after struggling his entire life he had found true happiness; flying above the clouds of the perfect civilization, Utopia. Massive buildings kissed the clouds, clean and beatiful, everyone was happy, healthy and content; everyone had a purpose and a place and the weather was perfect. He distantly heard the violent ringing of a bell and then he woke up; lifting his head off his desk as sweat dripped off him from the sweltering office, he answered the phone with a sigh.