The Minute Fiction is a series of small immersive fiction stories created to give readers a quick daily mental break. How many minutes are in a year? Borrow one for yourself and have an adventure.

The moment when match point is served.

Cradled in the firm grip of a world-class tennis player, you feel the palpable tension that fills the air. The weight of their fingers against your felt surface is a reassurance of the upcoming challenge, a task that you and your partner, the racket, are about to undertake. It is match point. The arena around you buzzes with the hum of anticipation, a chorus of spectators holding their collective breath as the pivotal moment approaches.

the anticipation

The thump of your heart reverberates with the rhythm of the player’s breath, the energy of their focus surging through you like an electric current. The world narrows down to the hand that cradles you, the racket that will soon unleash you, and the net that stands like a sentinel, dividing your side from your opponent’s. The stage is set, the stakes high, and the moment sacred.


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You feel the vibrations of your partner’s movements, the flex of muscles as they adjust their grip. The weight of your existence presses against their palm, a presence that is both familiar and essential. The stadium’s lights cast a focused beam on the clay court, illuminating the reddish surface that holds the promise of glory and defeat in equal measure.

The opponent on the other side of the net mirrors your partner’s intensity, their gaze locked onto the hand that wields you. The tension in the air is as tangible as the chalky scent of the court, a mixture of and anticipation that envelops you all. The ‘s hushed whispers hang in the air like a prelude to a crescendo, and the player’s breaths seem to synchronize with your own rhythm.

And then, it happens – the player extends their arm, holding you aloft with an almost reverent gesture. The world around you slows as you ascend, the court dropping away beneath you. Your heart races in tandem with the acceleration of your ascent, the sensation a mixture of exhilaration and weightlessness. The sky above becomes your canvas, the arena your stage, and the journey ahead a dance of physics and skill.

The player’s focus is unwavering as they fix their eyes on the apex of your arc. The stadium’s symphony of sounds fades into a distant hum, and in this suspended moment, it’s as if time itself has paused to pay homage to the impending feat. The anticipation is a tangible force, a current that courses through your felted skin and infuses you with a sense of purpose.


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the strike

At the peak of your ascent, the player’s racket slices through the air like a maestro’s baton. The impact reverberates through you, a surge of energy that transforms potential into kinetic. The force is both measured and primal, the marriage of technique and raw power that defines a world-class athlete. You spin forward, a sphere of bound energy released into the void.

The clay court below stretches out like a canvas of opportunity. Your trajectory is true, your course an unerring line toward the net. The breeze brushes against your surface, a gentle caress that adds an ethereal quality to your flight. Time unfurls like a ribbon as you bridge the gap between the racket and the court, the seconds stretching to an eternity as you descend.

Your trajectory is a calculated feat of physics and intent. You sail just feet above the ground, your flight a cross-court journey that mirrors your player’s vision. The court’s reddish hue is a blur beneath you, the arena a symphony of color and sound that frames your trajectory. The net looms like a guardian, a barrier that beckons your arrival.

In a heartbeat, the opponent’s racket slices through the air, an effort to intercept your flight. Their swing is a mirror of your partner’s earlier gesture, a response to the challenge you represent. The world narrows down to the opponent’s form, their focus a testament to the shared urgency of this exchange. Their racket arcs with a swift grace, their aim a testament to the precision that defines the world of professional tennis.

the landing

And then, with a sigh of relief and a gasp of victory, you connect with the clay just inside the line. The impact sends vibrations through your core, the sensation both grounding and electrifying. The court’s surface gives beneath your impact, and for a fleeting moment, time stands still. Your bounce grazes the surface as you skid forward, leaving behind the imprint of your journey. The narrow miss by your opponent’s swing is a symphony of fate and skill, a testament to the fine line that separates victory from defeat. The stadium erupts in cheers, a chorus of adulation that washes over you like a tide of celebration.

The realization dawns upon you – you’ve won the match, match point! Your journey from the player’s grip to the clay court has culminated in this defining moment, a victory that will echo through time. The opponent’s racket clatters against the ground as they watch your trajectory in disbelief. The ‘s cheers reverberate like a heartbeat, a celebration that defines the culmination of your shared effort.

As you rest against the clay, your journey complete, you bask in the glory of this defining moment. The stadium’s lights cast a warm glow, the court beneath you a testament to your resilience and triumph. The world around you seems to pulse with energy, a chorus of celebration that carries your spirit forward.

And as the player lifts you once more, a smile tugging at the corners of their lips, you are filled with a sense of completion. You are not merely a ball – you are the embodiment of skill, , and the shared heartbeat of the court. As you’re handed to the awaiting ball boy, your presence a symbol of victory, you leave behind a legacy etched in the memory of this match, this moment, and the indomitable spirit that defines the world of professional tennis.

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