Flash Stories

The Price of Peace

hamed Jan. 10, 2025, 5:29 p.m.

James Morgan wiped the sweat from his brow as he looked at the faded sign of Morgan & Sons Hardware. For twenty-four years, he'd been the first to arrive and the last to leave, just as his father had taught him. Through recessions, big-box store competition, and personal hardships, he'd kept the family business alive, ensuring his younger siblings Michael and Sarah had college educations and comfortable lives.

The betrayal came during a routine family meeting. Michael, now a lawyer, had drawn up new ownership papers. Sarah, with her MBA, had spreadsheets showing how "restructuring" would benefit everyone. They spoke of modernization, efficiency, and market realities. The fine print told a different story – one that would leave James with nothing but memories.

"It's just business," Michael had said, not meeting his eyes.

"The market doesn't care about sentiment," Sarah had added, her voice rehearsed.

After the dust settled and …

The Scent of Home

hamed Jan. 10, 2025, 5:17 p.m.

Maria's corner office on the thirty-fifth floor overlooked Manhattan's skyline, a view that still amazed her twenty years after arriving with nothing but a single suitcase and her mother's recipe book. The leather chair, the awards on the wall, the framed MBA from Columbia – all testified to the American Dream fulfilled. Yet every evening, as the city lights began to twinkle, her thoughts drifted back to the dusty streets of her childhood village.

She thought of mangoes ripening on the tree outside her grandmother's kitchen window, their sweet perfume floating through the afternoon air. No matter how many times she bought mangoes from Whole Foods, they never smelled quite the same. They were like photographs of the fruit she remembered – perfect on the surface but missing something essential.

Her assistant knocked, bringing papers to sign. "Another record quarter, Ms. Rodriguez. The board is thrilled."

Maria nodded, signing automatically …

From the Ranks

hamed Jan. 10, 2025, 5:10 p.m.

Prince Alexander was the fourth son, a position that earned him little more than dismissive glances at court. While his elder brothers learned statecraft and swordplay with the finest tutors, Alexander was left to his own devices. Too far down the line of succession to matter, yet too highborn to be ignored completely.

The whispers followed him through the palace corridors: "The wastrel prince," they called him. "Good for nothing but drinking and dice." Even his father, King Edmund, barely acknowledged him at formal functions, his eyes sliding past Alexander to rest proudly on his older brothers.

On his eighteenth birthday, instead of requesting the customary grant of lands, Alexander asked for something unprecedented – permission to join the army as a common soldier. The court erupted in scandalized murmurs, but King Edmund, perhaps eager to be rid of his embarrassment, granted the request with a dismissive wave.

Alexander traded …

The Long Wait

hamed Jan. 10, 2025, 5 p.m.

Emma scrolled through her phone, deleting photos of yet another failed relationship. Six years of dating apps, blind dates, and "promising" connections had left her with nothing but a collection of stories that made her friends cringe. At thirty-four, she was beginning to wonder if her standards were too high, or if true love was just a myth invented by romance novelists.
The invitation to her fifteen-year high school reunion sat unopened on her kitchen counter. She almost tossed it, but something made her pause. Maybe it was time to revisit the past before attempting another future.
The school gymnasium hadn't changed – same squeaky floors, same faded banners. As Emma nursed her punch, watching former cheerleaders compare wedding rings, a quiet voice behind her said, "Still hiding in the corner with the red punch, huh?"
She turned to find David Chen, who'd sat behind her in AP Literature. He still had those …

The Last Heir

hamed Jan. 10, 2025, 4:55 p.m.

Sarah Blackwood traced her fingers over the family portraits lining the mahogany-paneled hallway. First went little Tommy, found frozen in the greenhouse despite the summer heat. Then Mother, discovered at the bottom of the stairs with a broken neck – though Sarah couldn't remember those stairs ever creaking before. Father lasted longer, until the hunting accident that everyone called suspicious but couldn't prove otherwise.
At seventeen, she was the last Blackwood standing.
Mr. Peterson, their family lawyer since before her birth, had been a constant presence through each tragedy. He arranged the funerals, managed the estate, and became her legal guardian. His cold efficiency in handling their affairs had been a comfort, until she found the old photograph while cleaning out Mother's dresser.
It showed a younger Peterson at a garden party, his eyes fixed on her mother with an intensity that made Sarah's skin crawl. In every frame, he lurked in the …

The Last Sunset

hamed Jan. 10, 2025, 4:44 p.m.

Marcus stood at his bedroom window, watching the Hollywood Hills shimmer in the distance. The "For Sale" contract lay unsigned on his desk, its presence a quiet reproach. After fifteen years, he couldn't bring himself to sign away his dream house without one last sunset from the infinity pool.
"Just one more day," he told his realtor over the phone. "The market's hot. What difference could it make?"
The Santa Ana winds picked up that evening, howling through the canyons like hungry wolves. Marcus watched uneasily as the palm trees thrashed against an orange sky. The news warned of extreme fire danger, but he'd heard it all before. This was LA; drama was in the city's DNA.
At 3 AM, his phone's emergency alert jerked him awake. The hills were ablaze, a savage wall of flames advancing faster than anyone had predicted. Marcus grabbed his go-bag and laptop, hands trembling as he rushed …

Five Floors Up

hamed Jan. 9, 2025, 5:58 p.m.

Every morning at 8:15, Elena and James rode the elevator together. Five floors of exquisite torture, sharing space with a stranger who felt anything but strange.
She noticed how he always pressed the button for her floor first. He noticed how she hummed Beatles songs under her breath.
Neither noticed they both wrote about each other in their journals each night.
Today was different. The elevator lurched, stopped between floors. Emergency lights cast shadows that made hiding glances impossible.
"I'm James," he said finally.
"I know," she replied. "Your coffee cup says it every morning."
"You're Elena. Your packages at the front desk."
"We're terrible at this, aren't we?"
An hour passed. They shared a protein bar from her purse, swapped stories about terrible first dates.
When maintenance finally arrived, they had dinner plans.
As they stepped out, Elena smiled. "You know, I've been taking the stairs down every evening."
"Funny," James grinned. "I just moved in last month. My apartment's …

The Auto-Reply

hamed Jan. 9, 2025, 5:56 p.m.

Dave set his out-of-office email to: "Currently hiking Mount Everest. No access to civilization. Back in two weeks."
He was actually binge-watching Netflix in his apartment.
His boss replied: "Amazing! My brother's leading an expedition there right now. I'll tell him to look for you!"
Dave panicked and updated his auto-reply: "Update: Had to turn back. Yeti attack. Very common this season."
His boss: "Fascinating! National Geographic is there filming a Yeti documentary. They'd love to interview you!"
New update: "False alarm. Wasn't a Yeti. Just a very angry goat."
Boss: "Even better! My sister runs a viral goat video channel. She's at base camp!"
Final desperate update: "Plot twist: I'm still at my desk. The Himalayas screensaver fooled me."
Boss's reply: "I know. I'm watching you through the office window. Nice pajamas. PS: None of my siblings exist. But your creativity deserves a raise."

The Followers

hamed Jan. 9, 2025, 5:54 p.m.

Her Instagram following jumped from 651 to 100,000 overnight. Sarah stared at her phone, puzzled. Every new follower's profile picture showed the same thing: her sleeping face, photographed from above her bed.
Each account had posted a single photo – different angles of her bedroom, all timestamped from last night. In some, a dark figure stood in the corner, growing clearer with each post.
She scrolled frantically. The figure moved closer to her bed in each subsequent photo.
Her phone pinged: "Going viral! 250,000 followers!"
The latest photos showed the figure leaning over her sleeping form, its face a blur of static.
Another ping: "500,000 followers!"
Sarah looked up at her bedroom ceiling. The hidden camera she'd installed last week blinked steadily. But she hadn't installed it.
Her phone buzzed one final time: "Live stream starting in 3...2...1..."
The lights went out. In the darkness, thousands of tiny red recording lights blinked from every corner of her room.

The Last Text

hamed Jan. 9, 2025, 5:51 p.m.

The text from Jessica came at 3:33 AM: "I know what you did."
Marcus nearly dropped his phone. The timestamp was impossible – Jessica had died two hours ago in what the police called a "tragic accident."
His phone buzzed again: "Did you think deleting our conversation would hide it? Technology never forgets, Marcus."
The screen flickered, showing their last chat. The one he'd deleted. The one where she threatened to expose his embezzlement scheme.
Another buzz: "I backed everything up to the cloud before you pushed me."
His security cameras triggered. On the feed, he saw Jessica's contact photo floating in his living room, pixelating, expanding, forming a shape.
The lights went out.
In the darkness, his phone illuminated a face – Jessica's, but wrong. Her features were composed of binary code, her eyes mere windows to endless scrolling text messages.
"Let me show you what digital revenge looks like."
His phone began to glow white-hot in his …