A New Kind of Literary Pulse

    Inhale, 1...2...3... Exhale and aim, 1...2...3...  Slowwwly squeeze. Remember to follow through.  
    Bang. The sound of my hot pink Realtree camo .243 caliber hunting rifle as I earned my ...  [+]

The stairwell smelled like bleach and metal. Sharp, sterile, endless. Each step clanged beneath her bare feet, echoing upward into the dark. The sound bounced back to her in strange rhythms like ...  [+]

"And that...is the story...of how I cycled...thirty kilometres at...two in the morning." My haggard breathing punctuated my sentences at awkward times, protracting the process of my struggled ...  [+]