Julian Moritz
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Stories (9)
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Beneath the Snow and Beyond the Trees
Near my house in Ahuntsic, Montreal, across the train tracks on Port-Royal, there is a site that used to be a limestone-pit nearly a hundred years ago. It also served as a garbage dump for twenty years. This site is called the “Carrière Miron” and since the 80’s, Montreal has been trying to turn it into an environmental complex. During the summer, I would bike ride around this immense hole in the middle of Montreal. I remember repeatedly visiting it to see the Olympic stadium nine kilometers away. I would take walks around it and read and write. It was a hole filled with nothing where I was able to listen to only myself. I would therefore consider it to be my Walden. When the fall semester would arrive, my days of visiting this developing park were put on hold as my mind was used more to solve math problems or to memorize terms of biology as opposed to reading and writing about what I truly care about. During my first winter break with my girlfriend Jade, I made sure to make an outing out of visiting this park with her. I had never visited it before during winter and I was eager to show her the view of East Montreal that it offered beyond its long chain of trees.
By Julian Moritz4 years ago in Fiction
No Fish for a While
It was too small to be called a lake. I always knew it as the pond with small fish that took an hour to get to. Perchaudes is what we would call these small fish in Quebec. Little, golden fish with black stripes, and light delicious meat. Despite the fact that it was just a large pond, fish were bountiful there, making it a hub for fisherman from all over the province, especially in the winter months. Starting in January, the large pond’s frozen surface became crowded with cabanes, the ice fishermen’s wooden mobile homes.
By Julian Moritz4 years ago in Fiction
Bulls > Bears > Humans
There was a world that had three classes of animals: bulls, bears, and humans. The bulls were at the top. Aggressive and carefree, they tackled every venture with a thrust of their horns. Although lacking in morality, their modus operandi led to their successful reign over the cautious bears and frail humans. They dominated the business world due to their relentless risk-taking. Their ruthless attacks on fellow candidates rendered them unbeatable in politics. Their social circles had no room for humans, and only the slightest for a few bears.
By Julian Moritz4 years ago in Fiction
Flowers from the City
Few cars – especially the ones most common in the city – ever travel the roads of northern Alberta. And if they do, odds are they do not belong to nearby residents. Cracked by the cold of prior winters, and not always paved, the roads are suitable for big vehicles only: the trucks, vans, and occasional SUVs. In the summertime, any modest car with only two wheels working would be scared off by the road’s powerful horses. In the winter, they would drift off uncontrollably. Ever so often though, a car manages to toughen the roads. Descendants from the south would make their occasional visits. Others from out-of-town would come to take pictures of themselves against the country scenery.
By Julian Moritz4 years ago in Fiction
Sharks Are Man's Best Friend
Sharks are predators. In order to eat, they kill. You might deem that to be brutal. However, in the grand scheme of things, their purpose, in relation to the health of the ocean and the overall world, is vital. You may call that beautiful. Brutally beautiful.
By Julian Moritz4 years ago in Fiction
Mirror?
Tommy was too little to be called Tom. He found himself home alone often this summer, as both parents would leave for work during the week. Being an only child, he learned ways to compensate for his lack of siblings. And friends. Television and movies were not the answer. He had sat in front of the screen throughout so many of his earliest years that now everything that came from it looked the same. He avoided video games too. No matter the game, he always felt restricted. The virtual universes could never be vast enough for him. His imagination needed to be unencumbered, especially during playtime. That is why his toys were his go-to – his trusted companions. He could create and carry out his own stories, be anybody he wanted to be, or no one; he could efface himself as his toys would enact the stories that enfolded in his head. He would play for hours at a time, taking breaks for homework and dinner at the table when his parents would return from work.
By Julian Moritz4 years ago in Fiction
Grey Flamingos
Imprints followed the flamingo as she walked along the ashen coast. Hungry, away from her flock, the bird picked through the dust, finding a lone insect when lucky. Throughout her search, she had been oblivious to the crocodile. He was a few feet away, his two eyes raised above the murky water, stalking and waiting. No such threat could perturb the flamingo as she found a live cockroach deep beneath the soot. She sucked it in along with a heap of the flaky earth, hardly successful at filtering out the smut. She gave out a cough, but her stomach was less empty.
By Julian Moritz5 years ago in Fiction
