Flash Stories

A Vote for Change

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 5:02 p.m.

Maya stood at the edge of the campaign office, eyes darting between the overflowing stack of phone banks and the muted TV in the corner. The results of the 2020 U.S. Presidential Election were coming in, and she could feel the pulse of the nation racing through her veins. Each call she made, each text she sent, was one small thread in the tapestry of history unfolding in real-time.

Her fingers were trembling, not just from the cold of the November night but from the weight of the moment. She’d been a volunteer for months, sacrificing evenings, weekends, everything she could spare, driven by a single belief: this election had to be different. The country had to be different.

Her mother, sitting in the cramped living room of their small apartment in Philly, had watched the news every night since the first primary. She was a fervent supporter of the …

Echoes of Earth

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 5 p.m.

Commander Elena Martinez floated in the quiet solitude of the Mars capsule, her hands steady as she adjusted the controls, guiding their craft closer to the Red Planet. The stars outside the small porthole shimmered, distant and cold, like pinpricks of hope in an endless, empty canvas.

She was the first to leave Earth with a mission that felt bigger than any one person—humanity’s boldest leap into the unknown. They called it Ares Venture, a pioneering journey that would mark the beginning of colonizing Mars, of securing humanity’s future beyond their fragile home. Yet, despite all the technology, the sleek spacecraft, and the mission’s grand purpose, Elena couldn’t shake the feeling of being utterly, terribly alone.

The other astronauts were awake—some conducting experiments, others preparing for the arrival—but Elena felt the weight of the silence in her chest. It wasn’t the absence of sound that unsettled her. It was the …

The Sound of Silence

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 4:58 p.m.

Olena crouched by the window, her eyes tracing the distant skyline where the city’s once-proud spires now stood jagged and broken against the pale, grey sky. The sounds of war were a constant presence now—booms in the distance, the faint crackle of gunfire, and the ever-present hum of sirens that had become as much a part of daily life as the hum of her own heartbeat.

She used to wake up to the sounds of birds outside, her children’s laughter, the chatter of neighbors exchanging morning greetings. But that was before.

Now, each day felt like a fragile thread stretched too thin, one tug away from snapping. The world had changed overnight, and the city she had loved so much was slowly crumbling, piece by piece.

Yet, amid the chaos, Olena still managed to find moments of peace. A bowl of warm soup shared with her mother, the brief comfort …

Voices in the Wind

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 4:56 p.m.

Lina sat at her desk, staring at the empty notebook in front of her. The words wouldn’t come. She had watched Greta Thunberg speak on TV for the hundredth time, the young activist’s determined face burned into her mind. Greta’s voice echoed in her ears: “You are never too small to make a difference.”

Lina had always been passionate about the environment. Growing up in a small coastal town, she had seen the tides rise and the weather patterns shift. The storms were getting fiercer. The summers, unbearably hot. It wasn’t just the news anymore; it was personal. She had watched the mangroves near her home erode away, the saltwater creeping closer to the heart of their town.

But how could one person make a difference?

She flipped open her phone, scrolling through social media, seeing the protests, the marches, the powerful words of activists in big cities. “I want …

Behind the Screens

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 4:54 p.m.

Jenna stared at the screen, the cursor blinking like a reminder of everything she hadn’t done. It was 10 a.m., but it felt like a strange time, suspended somewhere between the days. The house was too quiet. She could hear the distant hum of the fridge, the soft click of her fingers on the keyboard. Outside, the world moved on—people still walked their dogs, kids played in the park—but inside, everything felt still.

It had been six months since the pandemic turned her office job into a remote one. At first, she had been excited. No more commutes. No more crowded trains or early mornings. She could wear sweatpants, sip coffee in peace, and get her work done from the comfort of her living room.

But now, everything was different. The novelty had worn off. Her days had become a blur of Zoom calls and emails, each one blending into …

In the Shadow of the Dome

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 4:53 p.m.

The cold wind cut through Sarah’s coat as she stood outside the Capitol, her breath visible in the icy air. She had come to Washington to see history in the making—an inauguration that felt, for reasons she couldn’t fully explain, like the end of one chapter and the beginning of another. But the moment she arrived, something felt wrong. The crowds, once buzzing with the usual anticipation of politics, had a different energy now, tense and restless. The air was thick with something she couldn’t quite name.

She’d made her way to the steps of the Capitol, hoping to catch a glimpse of the event, maybe even take a photo to send home. She wasn’t a political person, but today, there was something about being here, in the heart of the country’s democracy, that made her feel connected.

And then, it happened.

A loud crash echoed from the direction of …

The Voices That Rise

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 4:51 p.m.

Maya stood at the edge of the crowd, her heart pounding in her chest, a mix of fear and defiance. The protest stretched out before her like a river of humanity, its currents alive with chants and signs that carried messages of pain and hope. She had never done anything like this before, never stood shoulder to shoulder with strangers in the streets, demanding change. But when she heard the news about George Floyd, when she saw the footage, it was as if the weight of the world had pressed down on her chest. Her whole life felt like a series of small injustices, like cracks in the pavement she had learned to step over. But this—this was different. She could no longer step aside.

"Say his name!" the crowd roared in unison, their voices a powerful wave of collective grief.

"George Floyd!" Maya shouted, the words tearing from her …

The Quiet Room

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 4:49 p.m.

The apartment was quieter than it had ever been. Lila sat in the corner of the living room, her laptop open in front of her, but she couldn’t focus on the Zoom call. Her mind wandered as her 10-year-old son, Tommy, bounced a ball against the wall for the hundredth time today. Her husband, Ryan, was pacing back and forth in the kitchen, talking on the phone with someone at work about the latest developments. The entire world seemed to be on fire, and their small apartment had become a little island, still and full of tension.

"Can you stop?" Lila called to Tommy, her voice tight with exhaustion. She hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in weeks. Every day felt like it blended into the next, the line between work and home long erased.

Tommy stopped the ball and sat down on the couch, but his restless energy was …

Beyond the Stars

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 4:46 p.m.

Peter Lawson sat at his desk in the cluttered NASA lab, eyes bloodshot from hours spent scrutinizing calculations and blueprints. The hum of the machines around him was constant, a steady reminder of the giant leap they were all trying to make. Apollo was no longer just a dream—it was real, a mission that would send men to the moon and bring them home. But the weight of it pressed against him like the gravity they were trying to defy.

He ran a hand through his graying hair, staring at the latest telemetry readings on his screen. There were still so many things to solve—fuel mixtures, heat shields, trajectory corrections. It was never enough. The math was unforgiving.

“Pete,” called a voice from the doorway. It was his wife, Carol. She stood there, holding a cup of coffee, her eyes tired but warm.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, wiping his brow. …

Snowbound Strangers

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 4:45 p.m.

The howling wind outside the train station sounded like a beast clawing at the windows. Snow battered the walls, piling higher by the minute. Inside, a group of six strangers huddled near a potbelly stove, the only source of warmth in the dim, drafty room.

“I should’ve stayed in Boston,” muttered Mr. Archer, a stout banker in a wool coat that barely held back the chill. His spectacles fogged as he exhaled. “This is madness.”

“You think Boston’s better?” replied Miss Clara, a sharp-eyed schoolteacher with a tattered shawl draped over her shoulders. “My pupils haven’t eaten in days. I was heading to Albany to ask for relief. Boston’s no kinder than this storm.”

A young boy, no older than ten, tugged at Clara’s sleeve. “Miss, do you think the trains will run soon?” His voice was thin, shaky, his oversized coat swallowing him whole.

Clara knelt, brushing snow from …