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

He stared into the Abyss, defiant, undaunted. And the Abyss stared back. Yet, he was not afraid.

- Christopher Houston

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

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

It was on a morning of golden, uninterrupted sunlight in the Land of Plenty that Mother decided it was high time for Daughter to learn the lessons of self interest, in all its brutal glory. “Please, mommy, my tummy is rumbling — it hurts, it burns,” Daughter whined at the breakfast table, watching with hungry eyes as Mother devoured her comically high stack of pancakes, topped with a sea of syrup, fresh fruits and a top hat of whipped cream. Hardly able to speak with her mouth filled with warm pancake, the syrup dripping down her chin, Mother smiled as best she could and said, “I am merely ensuring civilization survives by rejecting the the morality of altruism, sweetheart; besides, honey, it’s time you realize I am a woman who does not exist for others.”

- 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

It was only after sitting down to my coffee, watching a bicyclist ride by the window, that I realized I was never in love with her, but only at her. Suddenly the ring in my pocket felt much heavier.

- Adam K

Find Adam on tumblr at Scraps From the Attic and find him on the twitter machine @PerenofUdvar

My hand hovers over the handle for a moment, I close my eyes and take a deep breath before opening the door, silently praying that what’s inside won’t be as bad as I fear.

The door creaks as I push it, the stench that pours out instantly has me burying my face inside my elbow.

A shaft of light splits the room in two, ending at the bed where I know the body to be; in semi-darkness I grab at the clothing strewn over the floor, hoping I can get out with as much as possible without waking my teenage son.

                                                     ***

Justine M Dunn writes flash and micro fiction, her début novel, Beach Lanes, is available now.  http://www.justinemdunn.com/beachlanes

twitter @juzzadunn

Thank you!  

“It wasn’t until I sliced it open that I realized it was perfectly ripe; just the right texture and temperature, not too dry or moist,” Jonah said as we finished our last drinks of the night, once again alone at the bar, save for the geezer passed out a few bar stools down, smelling of good bourbon and sour urine. I had lost track of our conversation, in part because I found Jonah terribly boring and because there was a small ocean of vodka running through my veins, so I asked, “You have a sudden passion for watermelon, or fruit of some kind?” “No, not fruit,” Jonah said, suddenly sober, pointing to the inebriated man face down on the bar, “that old drunk’s brain.”

- C.D. Carter

The man who appeared to be a boy with an unkempt beard pushed the stroller down the street, day and night, in all manner of weather. He pushed and walked, and walked and pushed, for years, sometimes passing Ron’s house a half dozen times a day, even as the snow fell, even as the sun baked everything below it. Ron, unable to resist after so long, chased after the man-boy one day at sunset until he saw what, exactly, was in the stroller, or rather, what wasn’t. 

- C.D. Carter

Follow C.D. Carter on the twitter machine @CDCarter13

Nights pass the same as they did until now, only time seems generous. I have enough time to go to the gym and walk the dog (soon to be dogs) and also shop and cook healthy stuff (I am looking at you, spinach!), but somehow my life has found itself stuck in a moment.
If I were to ask myself what that moment was, I couldn’t find the right answer, so I just keep abusing my seconds and minutes in hope to find it, but I never do…

- Andreea

“You believe at heart, everyone’s a killer who was born in a house full of pain, who was trained not to spit in the fan, who was told what to do by the man, who was broken by trained personnel, who was fitted with collar and chain, who was given a pat on the back, who was breaking away from the pack, who was only a stranger at home, who was ground down in the end, who was found dead on the phone, who was dragged down by the stone,” my son said to me, looking away, through his bedroom window. “Go to bed,” I told him, “your first day of kindergarten is tomorrow.”

- C.D. Carter

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

Don’t they have band-aids here? The red blotches have spread since she last checked. Regardless, she has no problem throwing the first stone.

 - Melanie

Follow this guest on twitter @m_ian, and also on tumblr at Oh My

He tried. And failed. Now he’d try once more, this time with the other side of the hammer. 

- C.D. Carter

Horrified? Me too. Find out more from C.D. on the twitter machine @CDCarter13

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