A New Kind of Literary Pulse

A beggar is lying on the floor, crestfallen, begging for some sustenance to survive.

This man, out of nowhere, sees a being so radiant that even in his pain and darkness, he raises his head ...  [+]

Three teens sit in a Plymouth van half past midnight, awaiting the judgement of a cop. There’s a blond—a lanky, pretty guy with a pouf of hair and amusement in his eyes. There’s a brunette—curvy ...  [+]

INT. Montreal Airport - DAY

OLIVIA MOORE, 24, is anxiously sitting at Gate C. Her knee is bouncing and she is biting her nails. She looks at the giant clock behind her. It reads 11:05.
...  [+]

I can hear bell towers and train whistles from my window.

Sometime during high school, my memories started to get murkier. It got harder to remember what I’d eaten last or what I had learned in ...  [+]

My person. The Cristina Yang to my Meredith Grey, or vice versa.

She was a random roommate who just so happened to live on the other side of the country. I met Shobhita at a science ...  [+]

I start the chess tournament by entering the skittles room, which unfortunately, is nothing like a rainbow. The skittles room is just a lounge with a water dispenser and is not a candy dispensary. I ...  [+]

I woke up to the sound of my phone ringing. It was still dark outside, and I wasn’t fully awake yet, but I answered my phone and heard a familiar voice. “It snowed over a foot last night! We need you ...  [+]

As we arrived in Cambodia the sweltering hot air clung to our skin. The air felt like a river. Filling our lungs with water, making it hard to breathe. We traveled to a small, rural town where we ...  [+]

The Forbidden House
I knew what it was. I knew the house on the beach and that I needed to get there. I was there late at night when I knew I had to get away from my mom screaming that the walls ...  [+]

I am not, nor have I ever been, an artist.

I am and have always been, a dreamer.

When I was in 3rd grade I had a necklace from Claire’s, which, in plastic silver letters, labeled me as ...  [+]

A pale, blonde woman in pink scrubs first asks my name and birthday. She has an accent that sounds Scandinavian, and she looks past the tears in my eyes as I answer her questions. She leads me down ...  [+]

I love puzzles. It’s calming to know that everything has its place, and that if I look hard enough I will find it. It doesn’t matter how many times I break a puzzle down; with a little effort, I can ...  [+]

I was in love with the way the dainty pink mouse glided across the stage, her tutu twirling as she pirouetted and her rose-colored bow following the motion of her outstretched arms with every grand ...  [+]

Gemma’s Hair
In sixth-grade, Gemma’s assigned seat was next to mine. My only knowledge of Gemma was that:

1. she played the youngest von Trapp child in our school’s production of The Sound ...  [+]

Stretched out between the living room and the kitchen, straddling the fuzzy carpet and cold tile, lies the warm spot—a vent affectionately named for its delightful puff onto a child’s cold toes. I say ...  [+]

A dark grey weight pulled down on the city, washing out the color and light. The air was dry, and a suffocating heat wafted between the buildings and over the streets. A reminder that beyond the ashen ...  [+]

Memories are like puzzle pieces – tiny snippets of a bigger picture, meaningless in isolation. One piece might show half of a face; one memory might contain a happy moment. You can’t tell what a ...  [+]

“Why am I not a wizard?”
“Why would you want to be a wizard?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Wingardium Leviosa my problems away forever? That would be so much easier than facing them alone with my ...  [+]