A New Kind of Literary Pulse

momofgale: My husband left us, and now my 12-year-old daughter is depressed. How can I help her? Top Answer: 15 upvotes 2 downyvotes  cityyouthcounselor: Your daughter is grieving and likely ... [+]

The old woman opened her eyes, blinked a few times, and sat up in bed. She turned this way and that, peering at the objects in the small room: a low, narrow bed with fairytale figures carved in the ... [+]

I couldn't believe it.   "10,000 Kroners! That's outrageous!"   I was deep in the Troms region of Norway on the Nordost Road. I had been for a while. At the moment, I was trying to cross the ... [+]

On his first day at the Bengaluru Metropolitan Transport Corporation, twenty-five year old Masti Govind Swamy, named after the village of Masti, where his father, not he, was born, found to his ... [+]

My life changed the day Cleopatra corporealized in the outdoor food court during our lunch rush. Corporealized. Bet you're surprised I know such a big word, but I do love me a good ghost story. Love ... [+]

The way Little Miss Perfect tells it, you'd think I was head of a gang of street thugs when I was a kid. We weren't thugs, we were twelve. All we wanted was some prize money, or at least a bit of ... [+]

It was a muggy morning at Cozy Cottage Nursing Home, and the arthritis was bothering me pretty bad. Hurt to move. Hurt to type. Still does, matter of fact. That's why, when they asked me for an ... [+]

"This is the last straw," Alma said. She had just opened the mail at the kitchen table.   Sitting opposite, Walter peered over the top of his newspaper. "What straw is that?"   "It's anothe ... [+]

"Three of hearts," the demon says. He's lounging on Joseph's bed, deck of cards in his hands and shirt riding up over his stomach. He glances up, fangs flashing in a bright grin as if he can feel ... [+]

Dear Editor,
Attached is my short story, "Lovestruck." Please publish it in your magazine as I see it becoming a runaway success.
Best,
Nancy
(P.S. It's allegorical.) ... [+]

Joe's knuckles bled, the result of inflation.
Tonya was some sort of greedy little Tinker Bell wannabe. She even had the wings to go along with it. She wore them every single day. The whole idiotic ... [+]

A hand emerged from the darkness and placed a steaming mug—Greg's favorite mug—on the table.
"Drink."
"What is this?" Greg demanded, starting to rise from his chair. "You can't—"
He'd barely ... [+]

Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess who was stolen by a terrible necromancer. He and his rotting, clanking horde abducted her from the palace gardens and carried her away and away until ... [+]

They sat alone in the back of the sweltering Chevy, their plump pink thighs stuck to the seat. Suzie glared at her brother's hand crossing the sacred middle line, slithering forward like a snake ... [+]

"Mrs. Crump?"
The man frowning at Madge through the screen door had stolen a letter from the mailbox earlier in the week, so he knew the surname.
"Yes," Madge replied.
"I'm Harold Bates from the ... [+]

Working toward sainthood this summer solved some of my problems. For one, my daily-Mass-going mother got off my back about getting a job and moving out permanently. Plus, it gave her something to brag ... [+]

Jude always ordered hot coffee when he was falling apart. He leaned back in his booth and pressed his hands into the porcelain, trying to drink in the heat through cold fingertips. He couldn't taste ... [+]

Fred tiptoed into his room and slid into his desk chair, casting a worried glance over his shoulder as he opened his laptop. Typing as quietly as he could, he logged onto Artium Obscurorum and ... [+]

I heard it before I saw it, a jingling of bells like the soundtrack to a corny Christmas movie. Then out of the mist rolled a small carriage, round and bright as a converted pumpkin. Florescent ... [+]

Joan feels remorse for having hated her toes most of her life. She inherited them from her grandmother, who had hated them too. Her grandmother had cried at the swimming pool on Joan's 11th birthday ... [+]