iStockphoto.com Opinion Three-Minute Fiction: 'Reborn' June 9, 2013 • At the Reborn Convention at the Creektown Holiday Inn, the women mill and mingle, fawn over mohair follicles, blue-blotched underpainting, voice-boxes uploaded with found sound. Distant crying. Summer afternoon nap meltdowns.
iStockphoto.com Opinion Three-Minute Fiction: Beyond The Fence June 8, 2013 • The love of his life had been married for five years before he met her, and dead for five days before he'd found out. Clandestine lovers weren't notified in the event of a tragedy.
iStockphoto.com Opinion Three-Minute Fiction: The Pomelo June 8, 2013 • The man was so beautiful. He appeared to be stepping out of the ad on the side of the bus, his hair illuminated in sun. Amelia saw the little slip of paper burst from his pocket when he pulled out his keys. It flipped in the air once, twice before it caught against the cement stairs right in front of her.
iStockphoto.com Opinion Three-Minute Fiction: Picked Clean June 7, 2013 • She found her brother's finger in the grass by the shed. The grass glistened with the morning dew, but the finger did not.
iStockphoto.com Opinion Three-Minute Fiction: Chips June 7, 2013 • The door slam is meant to be symbolic, I can tell, one last "take that!" in our roiling argument. But that door never did fit right in the frame, so it swings back open, revealing the heel of his departing shoe and the flick of his coat as he swings around the corner.
iStockphoto.com Opinion Three-Minute Fiction: The Shirt June 2, 2013 • She was cleaning out the closet, looking for items to give to Goodwill, when she found it. It was balled up at the back of the top shelf and had sat, collecting dust, for how long? Eight years? Nine? At least since they'd moved into the house and Will was a baby.
iStockphoto.com Opinion Three-Minute Fiction: Litter June 2, 2013 • I found your soul discarded in the street today.On a three by five index card, you scrawled in heavy black permanent marker letters, "YOU NOW OWN MY SOUL." Initialed under that. Today's date under that. It's a neat little binding contract.
iStockPhoto.com Opinion Three-Minute Fiction: The Art Of Compromise May 26, 2013 • "It's just not here," Erin announced as she rifled through the last cookbook. She held the book apart by its front and back covers, gave the fanned pages a shake.
iStockPhoto.com Opinion Three-Minute Fiction: Claudia Who Found The F May 26, 2013 • July 25th, the sun washes over Blossem, and the Texas heat seeps into my blood stream. Every day prior to this, it only beat against my flesh, turning me darker shades of tan and giving the illusion that I was actually my mother's daughter and not just a light-skinned replacement.
iStockPhoto.com Opinion Three-Minute Fiction: Snowflake May 25, 2013 • She found the photograph early in the day, while she was cleaning for spring, pulling a winter's collection of domestic detritus out from under the bed. Ticket stubs, grimy grocery notes, coffee-stained lined paper, and dead pens. Their life: movies, food, and books.
iStockphoto.com Opinion Three-Minute Fiction: Geometry May 25, 2013 • I found your journal in my car. A slim, Moleskin, six by ten centimeters, soft cover, blue, curving upwards at the edges like an incredibly shallow bowl, or a key dish. By the concavity in its form, the book seemed to be suggesting it was capable of carrying something. Something real.
iStockphoto.com Opinion Three-Minute Fiction: Ghost Words May 19, 2013 • The letter smelled of lavender and vanilla, like she couldn't decide which perfume to use so she used both. Her hand-writing had been drawn with the careful precision only seventh-grade girls in love have patience for.
iStockphoto.com Opinion Three-Minute Fiction: Ten Ring Fingers May 19, 2013 • She found the first ring on a night that smelled of body odor and beer. The bar's last customers had finally given up hope of taking her to bed and staggered away, leaving her to clean the stains of their desperation.
iStockphoto.com Opinion Three-Minute Fiction: Plum Baby May 18, 2013 • There isn't enough time in this world to grow your own tree. That tree is a plum baby still, never mind it's tall as the house those men are taking from us. It grew up with me.
