A New Kind of Literary Pulse

A single cell refuses to die.
Inside the man's right lung, the cell mutates, proliferates, bent on its single-minded directive to reproduce. It takes a long time for cells to amass and clump ... [+]

There's a house under construction on the empty lot across from the porch Frank sits on every day. In fact, it's been under construction for so long that the yellowed grasses and the towering fennel ... [+]

An elderly Vietnamese woman pushes a small metal cart full of groceries through the entryway of the train. The train is an empty yet incredibly loud function, due to a boy obnoxiously playing ClikClok ... [+]

He hoped the morning would go smoothly, but he kept his hope secret, feeling it was unwise to ask the universe outright for a favor like that. June needed to be dropped off at school before work ... [+]

He didn't see the woman standing next to him until her face, white and round as the moon, was peering into the car. Her gray hair, long and thin, danced in the wind.
Her hand moved in circles ... [+]

Twenty-nine had not been kind to Tetra, and thirty even less so. She realized by now that beneath the jokey veneer of back pain quips were warnings and cautionary tales. One careless encounter with a ... [+]

Tomorrow will mark a year since I had my stroke. It's an occasion that, according to my daughter, Ginny, I should view as important. But I've spent enough time staring at death; I don't want to think ... [+]

"You look like my daughter," the man on the bus says.
I turn my head politely. "Oh, thanks."
I'm unclear on whether it's a compliment, but why else would he be smiling like that? His arms are ... [+]

The sword bounced against Petra's hip as she entered the BART train. The passengers didn't give her much thought, too used to the sight of Knights these days to care. Petra was relieved; she didn't ... [+]

Kyle jogged down the dock behind the Coast Guard station. Gage was already on the boat, his arms crossed, the motor running.
"What's the holdup?" Gage asked when Kyle reached him. "Phone ... [+]

My father was a fisherman. At dawn, when the sunlight was weak and tepid, he would take the boats out to catch mackerel and sardines. At noon he would come back and rest on his bed, his back turned to ... [+]