Microfiction
Blood Pact: Forbidden Gunshots on the Peckos Riverbank
1892, West Texas The Pecos River cut the land in two—to the north lay the Lawson family’s fifty thousand acres of rangeland; to the south, the McCarthy cotton plantation. Three decades of feuding over water rights had seeded a hatred deeper than the riverbed.
By LĂ©o Young29 days ago in Fiction
Winter Series 2025 - When the Sun Forgot Us for a Moment (PART II)
That morning, the Sun hesitated; it did not announce itself with disaster or spectacle. There were no sirens, no collapsing networks, no urgent alerts vibrating in pockets. Light simply arrived differently, spreading across the city with an unfamiliar patience, lingering on rooftops and sidewalks as if it were deciding whether the day truly needed to begin. People noticed the change not with panic but with intuition. Coffee cooled untouched. Footsteps slowed. Conversations stretched into pauses that felt intentional rather than awkward, as though time itself had loosened its grip just enough to let the world inhale.
By José Juan Gutierrez 30 days ago in Fiction
Auroras Beyond the Last Forest - Mysteries of the North Pole
The journey toward the North Pole did not begin with coordinates or maps, but with a forest older than memory itself. The Taiga Forest stretched endlessly beneath a sky that never fully darkened, its snow-laden trees standing like quiet witnesses to centuries of travelers who had come seeking answers rather than destinations. This was not a forest that resisted passage - it tested intention. Every step forward felt deliberate, as if the land itself required certainty before allowing anyone deeper. It was here that the travelers gathered - not heroes in the traditional sense, but beings shaped by curiosity, patience, and winter’s discipline. Among them walked humans wrapped in layered wool and belief, forest spirits whose footsteps left no imprint, and small luminous fair folk - fairies - whose wings refracted the pale light into soft prisms. Even the wind seemed aware of them, slowing its breath as they advanced northward.
By José Juan Gutierrez about a month ago in Fiction
Winter Series 2025 - Snow Does Not Fall the Same Way Twice (Part III)
Snow looks identical until you stay long enough to watch it fall. From a distance, winter appears repetitive - the same cold, the same gray skies, the same quiet streets. But snow, like memory, reveals its truth only to those willing to slow down. Each flake carries a distinct geometry. Each winter arrives believing it is both the first and the last of its kind.
By José Juan Gutierrez about a month ago in Fiction
Winter Series 2025 - The Longest Night We Shared (Part I)
Winter does not arrive loudly. It enters quietly, slipping between conversations, dimming the edges of the world, asking us to slow down even when we resist. The longest night of the year - Solstice - is not only an astronomical event - it is an emotional threshold. A moment when darkness lingers long enough to make us listen.
By José Juan Gutierrez about a month ago in Fiction
