Rebecca by Timmy Reed

Her heart was angular inside, a pentagon of blood and muscle fiber. Suitors cracked open her chest and smoothed the corners to find love. They lined up in domestic automobiles for miles down the road from her father’s trailer, where he raised scant meals whispering to the forest to find gold then hacking at the mountain with a stick. He mostly caught beetles and worms.

“La serie de chanson; The Widow” (image via Flickr user MJ Photography and Design)

Each morning, she allowed herself to be chained to the stump of a fat oak by her siblings. The ancient tree had been killed to make room for her body. There was a lemonade stand nearby, in case someone got thirsty. Each afternoon, she bled. Each evening, there was supper. Her heart grew back every night.

Timmy Reed is a writer from Baltimore, Maryland where he currently attends the Creative Writing & Publishing Arts MFA program at University of Baltimore. He has worked as an Editorial Intern at Crazyhorse and his writing has recently appeared in Gone Lawn, Spilt Milk Magazine, Pure Slush, The Bicycle Review, Artichoke Haircut, Pretend Genius, Monologging, and Smile, Hon, You’re in Baltimore. He was awarded Third Place in the 2011 Baltimore City Paper Fiction Contest and has a story forthcoming in the print anthology, gorge. He blogs about animals and stuff at and writes tiny stories on Twitter @BMORETIMMYREED.