Miniature Fiction

Josie had taken her fantasy football draft preparation to an entirely new level. She wanted desperately to go beyond the mundane study of average draft positions and viable draft strategies; she wanted to understand the decision making process. It hardly surprised Jodie to find herself stooped over her husband’s lifeless body, poking and prodding at the grey mush of his brain, looking for any insight into how the stupid thing worked.

- C.D. Carter

Check out C.D. Carter’s new facebook page promoting his forthcoming ebook How To Think Like a Fantasy Football Winner

Technically today is one of our rare paid holidays, but someone has to go to work, and this time that lucky someone is me. Row after row of empty cubicles greeted me as I opened the door. I wasn’t bothered, all those empty cubicles showed how empty my soul felt every day. 

This was war and today my opponent was my brother John. I forgot about how close we are and focused only on crushing him like a bug, taking everything from him. Yes, I am that serious about poker, how else do you expect me to win?

Follow @miniaturefic

The wind kept knocking the ball off the tee while we were attempting to kick off, which meant I would be assigned to hold it. This always made me nervous, watching the kickers foot accelerate towards the ball and my outstretched finger. I never looked, I always closed my eyes, I only knew it happened when I felt the foot slam into my finger, breaking it off.

I tried telling my friends I couldn’t deal with the noise, all the talking and loud music in the bar was causing me real pain. I put my hands over my years and they asked me if I was “okay”. I Responded by nodding my head, grabbing two butter knives, and jamming them into my ears.

Down the lonely highway she fled, her cherry red Mustang a chariot of fire. She drove and drove and drove until she was nothing more than a dusty, half-remembered dream.

- Christopher Houston

Find this new guest author on tumblr HERE and find them on the twitter machine @WonBlackGuy

Find the song that inspired this story HERE

“Did you exchange a walk-on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?” I asked my son, sitting across from me in the diner, his long, dirty hair hanging to his shoulders, his sparse beard tangled and matted. The baby I had once rocked to sleep, singing that very line from my favorite song, did not speak, but answered me with the emptiness in his unblinking eyes, which had seen so much human degradation — the kind you cannot un-see. My boy was in his cage, staring outward.

- C.D. Carter

Follow @CDCarter13 and check out his new ebook on the Kindle Store Here

Attempting my first climb, I slipped, my worst fear coming to fruition. My cheap, Chinese made safety gear broke like Batman’s back. Now I hung by a lucky outcropping, holding on for dear life as I slowly lost all of my energy.

Follow @miniaturefic

It was like a scene from a gladiator flick, with blood and teeth flying every which way in slow motion because, well, Denny’s body was flooded with adrenaline, as it always had been at the thought of seeking revenge against the fantasy football league members who had caused him such unknowable angst over all these years. There were people with rusty butcher knives sunken deep in their gut, screaming to the heavens for death, people with chains squeezed around their breaking necks, people with ribs pulverized by the massive blows of brass knuckles, and all Denny could think was, God, I hope Malcolm Floyd is available late — dude could be a stud.

- C.D. Carter

The basement on draft day was a powder keg of long-held resentments and well-placed barbs made painful and stale over time; hatred was everywhere, so thick you could slice it up and eat it straight out of the air. The battle royale started like the most vengeful game of dominoes you’ve ever played: Pat sprayed his bear mace into Evan’s eyes, screaming almost unintelligibly about last year’s Fred Jackson trade, and Evan — even blind — wrapped his chain around Pat’s neck, yanked him to the ground, and pounced atop his rival with all the rage of all the years.

- C.D. Carter

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

The basement was full of killers: Andy with his customized spiked brass knuckles; Victor gripping his trusty machete; Evan cradling his whipping chain; Sam gripping a duo of rusty butcher knives; Pat with his bear mace in hand. My God, Denny thought as he descended into the basement, this is the day our fantasy football threats come nightmarishly true.

- 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

“Everyone channels social anxiety through zombie stories,” she said, waving a dismissive hand at the writer. “I think a lot of people just like the blood,” the writer replied, imagining his critic swarmed by zombies, blood spurting from her orifices like ornate fountains on the Las Vegas strip.

- C.D. Carter

One of my long time patient is terrified of needles and today was no different, when I gave him his yearly battery of shots he cried like a baby. An hour later my nurse asked me, “Why did you use needles three times bigger than you had to run that guy?” I laughed, “he deserves it for being a baby and besides, don’t you realize that’s the man responsible for making the Red Dawn remake? “

Follow @miniaturefic