Welcome to Miniature Fiction! A place to read and share short stories. Very short stories, one, two or three sentence stories about anything.
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About Archives Featured GuestsMy bosses didn’t know it yet, but tonight was my last show, I’m quitting this bitch. My time as anchor on America’s last highly rated news program was over, I had enough of bullshit TV journalism. So tonight I was going to sign off by telling everyone what I thought of them: my bosses, coworkers, and especially the American public, those bastards.
The reporter’s editor demand that he land an interview with the president, during election season, no less. At the next day’s editorial meeting, the reporter tied his editor to a chair, pulled an Obama mask over his fat, pink face and asked him many questions, including which body parts he treasured most.
- C.D. Carter
Guest C.D. Carter with another entry that seriously stretched the boundaries of what I’m willing to publish. Maybe next year Miniature Fiction can undergo a format change to be stories under 500 words….
Follow @CDCarter13 and check out his new ebook on the Kindle Store Here
A lunatic’s laugh was the only thing that soared above the roar of the chainsaw. Write out the word, percent, Jonah Hetsberger had told his reporters again and again, until his cheeks were flush with anger. They should have learned these basics in journalism school, but they had not, apparently, and they ignored Jonah’s patient on-the-job training, so up the chainsaw went, razor teeth whirring, ready to slice through the last remaining limb of the Bay Courier’s sports reporter who had inexplicably used the percentage symbol in his preseason high school baseball story.
- C.D. Carter
I went out for supplies yesterday, I was afraid, but I had no choice. I was nearly overrun, bit and now I know I’m infected. It’s all over for me, I sent one last data packet out, and then held my gun to my temple.
The End.
Miss the previous parts? Check them all out here: Broadcasting The Apocalypse >
The information gatherers, those people like myself who had the means and the will to find out the state of the world and report it, decided on a new mission. We needed to determine the best “safe zones”, the areas free from the plague and the hordes. Then we needed to come up with rules and methods to run these little societies, scary to think I’d be helping control the human populations future.
to be continued… See the previous stories in the series here…
A violent group of the hordes were pounding on my door, I just barely had enough time to send off my report before the first one broke through.
*This is the latest in a series of stories. Miss the other parts? Find them below…*
I realized I was by far the most prolific journalist left, at least for English speakers. I had to teach a few others how to hack into government and civilian computer systems, the ones that had the information the world needed. Soon, my old life had completely faded, I was only known as Oracle.
Miss the earlier parts? Check out the links below…
Three days ago, I had to kill a man. I tried to help him at first, to share a little of my food and give him directions to possible shelters. Once he saw how good my supplies were, he wanted them for himself and I couldn’t allow that.
For years they had called me crazy as I spent my spare money buying water to store, MREs, and propane. When it finally happened, I tried not to laugh. I was a journalist, I had a duty to perform and plenty of supplies to do it…
The reporter’s editor demand that he land an interview with the president, during election season, no less. At the next day’s editorial meeting, the reporter tied his editor to a chair, pulled an Obama mask over his fat, pink face and asked him many questions, including which body parts he treasured most.
- C.D. Carter
