Miniature Fiction

I refused to pay my bookie, I tried to argue that he was a cheat and a liar, but in the end I just didn’t want to pay him. When he said he was going to give me the “third-degree” I thought he was being figurative. A week later at the burn unit I knew he was for real.

When I first got on the winning streak, my friend Chris and i would always bet double or nothing. Well, after two years of betting double or nothing, Chris owed me a substantial amount of money - he owed me his whole life really. This made his frantic phone call even more surprising, he wanted one more double or nothing bet, and I happily obliged.

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Paul, in his turns as dealer, would never burn a card before the flop. He refused, he said, on grounds that it didn’t matter because destiny was destiny, no matter how you sliced it. Ethan, upon hearing this smug, pseudo-intellectual explanation, considered a way to remind Paul to burn a card: He retrieved a bottle of lighter fluid from the basement, crept behind Paul, sprayed the pungent stuff on his head and shirt, struck a match, and tossed it on his shoulder.

- 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

Check out C.D. Carter’s Amazon page for more of his fiction writing goodness Amazon.com

The inaugural Organized Monopoly Alcoholics Convention started fine. Once the alcohol really got flowing, those battles over trades got violent. Perhaps this would be the first, and last, O.M.A.C.

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I had done everything right, pushing in nearly two-thirds of my remaining chip stack on a hand in which I had precisely nothing, focusing on showing no excitement, no despair, no anxiety, and yet, once more, Penny had called my bluff. How had she known, I asked, red faced and on the brink of crushing poverty. “Here’s how I knew,” Penny said in her best conciliatory tone. “You pissed your pants.”

- 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

Lonnie trembled, he tried in vain to control his heavy breathing, his thudding heart, he avoided the eyes of the thing across the table, reading his every thought. He squeezed the playing cards, checking once, twice, thrice, that he had two kings, knowing that no matter what he had in his grasp, the red-eyed fiend — its black, veined wings flapping ever so slightly in anticipation of sweet victory — was going to take poker night for his own. Lonnie wiped the perspiration from his forehead and examined the warmth on the back of his hand: He was sweating blood.

- 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

I couldn’t feel joy anymore, not from movies, music, sports, sex - nothing. One day a friend introduced me to the wonderful world of online gambling. Finally, I could smile again.

The football’s laces spun, tight and true, a dozen revolutions per second, toward its target moving step for step with his defender, who grabbed and scratched clawed while the contest’s final seconds ticked away. Hands went up, the ball came down, fans stood up, the quarterback fell down, and a hundred thousand fantasy fiends left their bodies as they lost or won or tied when the ball finally stopped its spinning. 

- C.D. Carter

Follow @CDCarter13

Find CDCarter’s other works on Amazon: C.D. Carter

With every tick of the digital scoreboard glowing from its home on the laptop screen, the degenerate’s pulse quickened, beads of sweat surfaced on his brow and his upper lip and his quivering palms. These next few minutes, near midnight on a Friday, would determine whether the degenerate could pay the mortgage on Monday morning, to keep his family warm and sheltered from the bitter winter howling outside their bedroom windows. It all depended on someone named Damian Lillard, apparently an NBA point guard, and whether he could trump the daily fantasy juggernaut pouring on the points in a head-to-head duo that night; and God Almighty, how that made the degenerate feel alive, so horribly, painfully, acutely alive.

- C.D. Carter 

Follow this frequent guest on the twitter machine @CDCarter13 

And check out his kindle ebook Fantasy Football’s Fertile Ground 

Most people bet on rational things, like the winner, or the score. I make much rarer bets, like how many times the commentators say something stupid. I’ve put $25,000 on 150 stupid comments.