A New Kind of Literary Pulse

Grief is an anchor. Its ropes drag you to depths that you were unaware existed. When my husband died, I tried lifting the anchor as much as I could while it pulled my daughter and I down. When I lost ...  [+]

he bent over backwards.
If other lovers went the extra mile, he ran. Across the stone pavement where their lovenest was erected, he tumbled around and landed perfectly on both feet. When he ...  [+]

Rain slaps against the windows, pounding. Thunder strikes, and I cower. Stomach churning, my heart palpitating. They're leaving today.   After months of packing and boxing up their belongings, they ...  [+]

Hedge. Bust. Fold. News not new ...  [+]

This morning was full of optimism; the air smelled exactly how it does deep in Kiambu, transporting me to my room on the upper floor, opening the windows around 10:00 a.m., the second-last one to ...  [+]

When the government announced they would disband the Journalistic Freedom Association, Evelyn decided to fight back. She had seen how the regime had spread disinformation and fake news to influence ...  [+]

What were we to do? Where were we to go? The tail of our plane dangled precariously off a cliff into fog, rocking with the piercing wind. The other half of the plane had split off and fallen beneath ...  [+]

When I was a little girl, I believed that all mothers and grandmothers belonged to a different kind of human.
My grandmother—my babushka—especially seemed to have come into this world exactly as I ...  [+]

At first, it was wonder.   She could faintly sense the shimmer of other lives brushing against her own, like ripples of an undercurrent beneath still water.   A subtle doubling of perception: she ...  [+]

 The casino was dark. The only sounds were from the slot machines, roulette wheels, and laughter–and more commonly–groans of the patrons. The carpeted floor was red like blood, as though it has been ...  [+]

"Sir, please." The man on the phone calls me a crude name, and my jaw churns. "I'm sorry for any inconvenience. I will offer you a full refund and a discount on your next purchase." He hangs up and I ...  [+]

 The air is stale, but your perfect imperfection gives it life. The soda can of hungry red and impulsive yellow rolls in; the clunky letters on its surface call out to me, forcing my careful steps to ...  [+]

Rain is pouring as if the sky were going to come down upon the earth. The windows rumble, dogs bark, and the stairs that lead to the porch of the house where this story takes place lift and fall down ...  [+]

Have you ever felt like you were standing on the edge of a cliff? Have you ever been in the clouds?    That is me right now — literally and figuratively. On a plane back from a trip with my senio ...  [+]

Nights are lonely in the urban jungle. There's no crickets, but creaky streetlamps hum. There's no stars, but the roads blind you. There's no wild animals, but its advised to never look in any strange ...  [+]

I was always known as the gay roommate. It didn't necessarily bother me too much that people knew. I had no interest in the boys at school, not that I hadn't tried, but I didn't mind ruling them out ...  [+]

Baseball is my life. But lately I'd realized that I don't want that. I want to be all in, by taking  more chances off the field, not just on the field.    I'm standing in the dugout of the Maine ...  [+]

The horses, exhausted and haggard, arrived at the half-dilapidated inn late in the evening, when the sun was but a dim orange ball dangling inches from the horizon.  The riders were in no bette ...  [+]