Flash Stories

The First Edit

hamed Jan. 18, 2025, 4:55 p.m.

It was a cold afternoon in January 2001, and Max sat hunched over his desk, scribbling frantically on a crumpled piece of paper. His history project was due tomorrow, and though he had the basic idea in mind, the details kept slipping through his fingers. The internet, though abundant with information, felt like a maze—every search led him down a rabbit hole of endless links, none of which answered the specific question he needed: What was the true origin of the American Revolution?

Max clicked through page after page, each more confusing than the last. Then, just as he was about to give up and settle for the same tired textbook references, a strange link appeared in his search results: Wikipedia.

He’d never heard of it before. The title looked odd—just a string of letters and numbers—but curiosity got the best of him. Max clicked on the link, expecting another …

Love Amidst Chaos

hamed Jan. 18, 2025, 4:50 p.m.

The air was thick with tension as the debate raged on. Julian sat at the podium, eyes sharp, voice unwavering as he tore into his opponent’s policies. He was the youngest senator in the country’s history, ambitious, idealistic, and—until tonight—certain that his ideals were the only ones worth fighting for.

Across from him, Elena clenched her jaw, her fingers curling around the microphone. She was no less fierce, a rising star in her own right, a staunch conservative who had spent years building her platform on a foundation of discipline and tradition. They had been on opposing sides for as long as either could remember.

Tonight’s debate was the pinnacle of their rivalry. The country’s future hung in the balance, and they were each determined to emerge victorious. The public had been eagerly awaiting this moment, with polls and news outlets predicting an intense showdown.

Julian’s eyes flicked to Elena’s, …

The Last Terminal

hamed Jan. 18, 2025, 4:48 p.m.

The basement smelled of mildew and secrecy. Dim candlelight flickered against the concrete walls as the group huddled around a single relic: a dusty, decades-old laptop, its casing cracked but functional. To them, it was a miracle—a forbidden window into the past.

Eva’s fingers trembled as she booted it up. The machine whirred faintly, its fan struggling like a relic waking from a deep sleep. She glanced at the others, their faces tense and expectant.

“Are you sure it’s safe?” whispered Malik, his voice barely audible over the hum of the laptop.

“It’s never safe,” Eva replied, her eyes fixed on the glowing screen as it flickered to life. “But if we don’t do this, we stay blind.”

In their world, technology was a crime. After the Blackout Laws were passed, anything more complex than a mechanical tool was destroyed. The government claimed it was for humanity’s survival—that technology had …

The Clockmaker’s Daughter

hamed Jan. 18, 2025, 4:39 p.m.

The first time Lila stopped time, it was an accident.

She had been running late for work, her keys nowhere to be found. In a fit of frustration, she shouted, “Just give me a minute!” And then everything froze. The dripping faucet halted mid-drop, the traffic noise outside silenced, and the clock on her wall stood still.

It took her several minutes—her minutes—to understand what had happened. When she clapped her hands and the world resumed, she almost convinced herself it was a hallucination. But it wasn’t.

Over the next few weeks, she experimented in secret, learning to bend seconds, stretch minutes, and pause hours. Time, she realized, wasn’t a straight line—it was clay in her hands.

But with power came temptation.

The first change was small. At a café, she paused time and caught the coffee cup before it spilled on her white blouse. No harm done. The second …

The Last Harvest

hamed Jan. 18, 2025, 4:31 p.m.

Jarek knelt in the moonlit field, his fingers trembling as they sifted through the soil. The earth was dry, cracked, and barely clinging to life—much like him. He’d worked in secret for months, stealing fertilizer from government warehouses and collecting rainwater in rusted barrels hidden behind his barn.

Natural farming had been outlawed a decade ago. The World Climate Accord had deemed it inefficient and destructive, replacing it with synthetic food factories that churned out flavorless sustenance. "For the planet," they’d said. But Jarek remembered what real food tasted like—warm tomatoes plucked straight from the vine, sweet corn kernels popping between his teeth. He remembered his father’s hands, caked in dirt, holding up a plump squash with pride.

Tonight, under the cover of darkness, the first shoots of his defiance were ready.

He wiped his brow, glancing at the sky. Drones patrolled the air, scanning for any signs of forbidden …

Forever Logged In

hamed Jan. 18, 2025, 4:25 p.m.

The first thing Ellie noticed was the silence.

In LuxeVR, the new virtual reality platform, silence wasn’t part of the design. Every scenario—tropical beaches, bustling cities, even alien landscapes—was filled with sound. Yet now, in the lush meadow she’d been exploring, the chirping birds and rustling grass had vanished.

“System glitch,” she muttered, tapping the glowing bracelet on her wrist. It was supposed to be her ticket back to reality. But the interface didn’t appear.

“Exit menu,” she commanded. Nothing.

Her chest tightened. This wasn’t supposed to happen. LuxeVR had been hailed as the safest, most immersive VR experience yet, complete with neural syncing. Ellie had been skeptical at first, but her friends raved about it. “It’s like living another life,” they’d said. “Just try it.”

Now, she regretted listening.

Ellie wandered through the meadow, her panic rising with every step. She tried everything: voice commands, gestures, even closing her …

Across the Divide

hamed Jan. 18, 2025, 4:23 p.m.

“Rent just went up again,” Sam typed, the words heavy on the screen. She stared at her phone, sitting in the corner of her tiny Brooklyn apartment. The radiator hissed, and the faint smell of burnt toast wafted from the neighbor’s kitchen.

Moments later, the reply came: “I can’t imagine. Here, rents have been capped since the crisis. Have you thought about leaving?”

Sam sighed. “Where would I go, Marta? The U.S. is like quicksand. Once you’re in, you can’t afford to get out.”

Across the Atlantic, Marta sat in her sunny Lisbon flat, sipping espresso. Outside, the pastel buildings of her neighborhood gleamed in the afternoon light. Her job as a remote UX designer paid enough to cover rent, groceries, and even a weekend trip to the Algarve now and then. But she didn’t say that to Sam. She didn’t want to widen the gap between them.

“I heard …

Wall Street Exodus

hamed Jan. 18, 2025, 4:21 p.m.

The email hit Andrew’s inbox at 9:03 AM, marked URGENT: “Effective immediately, GreenWave Investments will halt all ESG initiatives to refocus on core profitability.”

He stared at the words, numb. Just last week, he’d given a presentation on the firm’s commitment to sustainability, citing how their green portfolio had reduced carbon emissions by 20% while delivering steady returns. The applause had been polite, but now he realized it was hollow.

In the break room, the whispers were deafening. "It’s the market," someone said. "Investors want quick wins, not greenwashing."

But Andrew couldn’t let it go. He had joined GreenWave two years ago, driven by the promise of impact investing—real change paired with real returns. Now, it felt like he’d sold his soul to the highest bidder.

“Andrew, we need to talk,” his boss, Marcy, said, leaning against the doorway to his cubicle. Her smile was forced, her voice low. “You’re …

The Last Tide

hamed Jan. 18, 2025, 4:18 p.m.

The sky was orange-gray, the sun a pale disk smothered in ash. Maya stared out the window of their small coastal home, watching the waves claw closer to the dunes. The wind howled, rattling the loose boards of the house, but it was the silence inside that pressed hardest on her chest.

“We need to leave,” her brother Kiran said, his voice steady but tight. He stood by the front door with his duffel bag slung over one shoulder, ready to go. He’d been ready for weeks.

Dad didn’t look up from the kitchen table. His rough hands cradled a chipped coffee mug, the same one he used every morning. “This house is all we have left,” he muttered. “If we leave, where do we go?”

“The shelters are overcrowded,” Mom added, not looking at anyone. Her gaze was fixed on the photo of the family fishing trip that hung …

The First Hundred Days

hamed Jan. 18, 2025, 4:16 p.m.

When President Everson swore in, they called it The Great Reset.

Lila felt the change before the news anchors could finish their glowing reports. Her bus pass, once free under the old administration, was suddenly invalid. A sleek new kiosk demanded payment. "Credit only," it chirped. Lila sighed and swiped, watching half her grocery budget vanish in seconds.

At work, her boss handed her a packet labeled Employee Reclassification. Inside, she found her new status: Independent Contractor. Benefits? Gone. Hours? "Flexible."

“Adapt or be left behind,” Everson had declared during the campaign, smiling into the cameras. Lila hadn’t voted for him, but it didn’t matter now. His face was everywhere—billboards, TV, even on the new government app that citizens were "strongly encouraged" to download.

The app sent push notifications every hour: "Report your productivity! How are you contributing to the nation’s growth today?" Lila dismissed them at first, until her …