Created by: anonymous in daily-page on Feb 19, 2026, 7:11 PM
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Francis ajustó su gorra Marathon, aferrándose firmemente al manillar mientras su fiel bicicleta flotadora vibraba suavemente bajo sus pies. Aquel cielo infinito, salpicado de rascacielos segmentados que flotaban delicadamente como hojas en el viento, le recordaba vagamente a las interminables planicies australianas que había atravesado décadas atrás.
Se permitió un instante para recordar su primera gran aventura, cuando cruzó Australia en bicicleta en un tiempo en que las máquinas eran simples y las distancias, enormes desafíos. Esa memoria, mezclada con nostalgia, le brindaba confianza para enfrentarse a la extraña realidad que ahora vivía.
La ciudad flotante tenía un nombre peculiar: Nova Austral, un homenaje a la tierra que lo vio nacer. Francis había llegado allí siguiendo la pista de un antiguo colega y rival, Alden Rourke, desaparecido misteriosamente mientras exploraba esas mismas rutas aéreas.
En esta ciudad del futuro, las calles habían sido sustituidas por corrientes aéreas, rutas invisibles que debían recorrerse con intuición y coraje. Francis había enfrentado antes cocodrilos y desiertos implacables, pero aquí, el peligro acechaba en forma de turbulencias y autos voladores impacientes que rugían como bestias mecánicas.
Su bicicleta flotadora no era especialmente rápida ni sofisticada comparada con los vehículos modernos, pero Francis sabía que su habilidad residía en la paciencia y el dominio del equilibrio. Cada corriente aérea exigía precisión y nervios templados para evitar accidentes en las alturas.
Mientras pedaleaba con determinación, un auto clásico pasó zumbando cerca. Francis notó la mirada sorprendida del conductor, una mujer joven de brillantes ojos azules que luego reconoció: era Ava, la hija de Alden. Detuvieron sus vehículos flotantes en una plataforma cercana para hablar.
Ava le explicó que su padre había descubierto algo extraordinario en las profundidades del edificio principal—un secreto tecnológico capaz de cambiar el curso del mundo. Sin embargo, Rourke había desaparecido antes de poder revelar los detalles, y Ava temía que fuerzas oscuras estuvieran involucradas.
La ruta se complicó cuando entraron juntos en un sector lleno de torres de cristal. Sus secciones flotantes emitían un suave zumbido electromagnético, dificultando la estabilidad de las bicicletas. Juntos, Francis y Ava maniobraron con cautela y determinación, usando cada pequeña ráfaga de viento a su favor.
Finalmente divisaron el edificio principal—un coloso de cristal que parecía desafiar las leyes físicas con su elegante levitación. Se detuvieron unos momentos, maravillados y ansiosos por descubrir la verdad que se escondía en su interior.
Al llegar fueron recibidos con aplausos y risas cálidas de amigos que esperaban ansiosos su llegada. Pero Francis sabía que esta aventura apenas comenzaba, y que pronto tendrían que enfrentarse al mayor desafío de todos: descubrir el destino de Alden Rourke y revelar el misterio que podría cambiar sus vidas para siempre.
Created by: anonymous in daily-page on Feb 19, 2026, 7:11 PM
Created by: anonymous in daily-page on Feb 19, 2026, 7:10 PM
Created by: anonymous in daily-page on Feb 19, 2026, 7:10 PM
Created by: anonymous in daily-page on May 17, 2025, 4:04 AM
A dog doesn’t understand death. Not the way we do. He understands silence. He understands that someone who was always there is now not.
He waits by doors that won’t open. He listens for footsteps that only memory still makes. He sniffs at the air for a scent that’s already fading.
But he never hears the words: “She’s gone.” “He passed.” “Never again.”
So in his heart, you’re still alive— just elsewhere. Delayed. Caught in some long errand beyond comprehension.
And isn’t that what we humans do too? We know the facts, we say the words— but inside, we keep waiting. For a call. A knock. A laugh in the next room. As if love had no burial rights. As if memory was a leash tied to a ghost.
Perhaps the dog suffers less because he doesn’t know it’s forever. But perhaps he suffers more, because he never stops hoping.
And maybe that’s what grief really is: the stubborn part of us that waits, ears perked, at a door that will never open again.
Created by: roberto.c.alfredo in daily-page on Dec 15, 2025, 12:25 AM
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Created by: kwrites in moments-of-joy on May 29, 2025, 3:21 AM
I am stuck in a narrow, crowded road. I can see the beginnings of a traffic jam. This part of the city was, after all known, for its nightmarish traffic situation. One could get stuck among honking cars and two-wheelers, for hours on end. I throw up a silent prayer to the gods, to spare me from a traffic jam. I just dont have the energy to navigate cursing drivers, and pedestrians who didnt have a lick of road sense. "Why couldnt people in this blasted country just follow the damn traffic rules?" "Why did I choose to come here for school?" I can feel my thoughts spiraling as I quietly resign myself to being stuck here for hours. A sudden cool breeze, breaks my reverie. This wasnt just any kind of breeze, it was the sort that brought the sweet promise of rain with it. I feel a new sort of awareness, as I sit up a little straighter. I take in my surroundings as if for the first time. A broad smile, splits my face, as I breathe in the wind carrying the scent of the earth. It reminds me of home, of the many many evenings I spent dancing and laughing in the rain with my siblings. I tilt my face up to the sky as if to greet a long lost friend. I relax, as the first drops, of rain hit me, causing delicious shivers to race up my body......
Created by: gerardfil in andorra on May 27, 2025, 2:29 AM
No, seriously. The Consell General (our parliament) is inside a building smaller than most banks.
It’s wedged right into a bend in the road in Andorra la Vella. It has a parking garage underneath.
In theory, you could run for office, park your car, and walk into the chamber in under three minutes.
I once tried to explain this to a coworker from Berlin. He laughed for five straight minutes.
And yet, it works.
Our political system is one of the oldest in Europe — we’ve had co-princes since the 1200s. One is the Bishop of Urgell (Catalonia), and the other is the President of France.
It’s weird. But stable. And very us.
Maybe you don’t need a palace if you’ve got snow, fiber internet, and municipal hot springs.
New Parliament of Andorra, headquarters of the General Council of Andorra since 2011.
Created by: gerardfil in andorra on May 27, 2025, 2:28 AM
When I was a child, I thought every country had ski lockers at the supermarket.
That’s Andorra. Small, yes. But we live vertically — and very much on our own terms.
I was once asked by an American tourist if we use euros “like France does.” I told him we do. Then I told him we’re not France. Or Spain.
We’re both. And neither.
Catalan is our official language. We learn Spanish and French from childhood. Some of us speak Portuguese at home. Our newsstands carry newspapers from Madrid, Toulouse, and sometimes Lisbon.
And yet, we are something else entirely.
When I travel, people ask if I’m Spanish or French. I always hesitate. “I’m Andorran,” I say. Most smile politely. A few ask if that’s in Africa.
It’s okay. We’re used to being overlooked. But the snow knows who we are.
We belong to mountains. And to each other.

Created by: roberto.c.alfredo in united-states on May 11, 2025, 12:54 PM