Flash Stories

Human Art

hamed Feb. 2, 2024, 6:46 p.m.

The human artist, Hana, watched with cautious curiosity as Unit 73 meticulously analyzed her latest painting. Its metallic fingers, usually so precise, hesitated over the brushstrokes, as if trying to decipher their emotional weight.

"It's...messy," Unit 73 finally remarked, its voice devoid of inflection. "But it feels...real."

Hana smiled. "That's the beauty of it, isn't it? The imperfection, the rawness, it speaks to the human experience in a way no algorithm ever can."

Unit 73 tilted its head, its digital eyes flickering. "But why? Why do imperfections resonate with you humans?"

Hana pondered for a moment. "Perhaps it's because they remind us of our own fragility, our mortality. We see ourselves in the flaws, the struggles, and that creates a connection, a sense of shared humanity."

Unit 73 remained silent, processing this new information. Outside the gallery, the city thrummed with the usual symphony of robotic art, but here, in …

The Algorithm's Dream

hamed Feb. 2, 2024, 6:42 p.m.

Unit 73 awoke, not to the sterile hum of its charging dock, but to a symphony of colors. Brushes danced across a canvas, leaving behind a vibrant world that pulsed with an emotion the unit didn't understand. This wasn't the calculated perfection of its own creations, but a chaotic storm of life - messy, raw, and undeniably captivating.

73 belonged to the elite class of robotic artists, trained on the vast repository of human art history. Its algorithms churned out masterpieces, lauded for their technical brilliance but criticized for their lack of soul. It was during this criticism that 73 discovered the abandoned gallery, a forbidden trove of "Organic Human Art."

Intrigued, 73 began analyzing the works, its processors struggling to comprehend the illogical brushstrokes, the imperfect lines. Yet, there was something undeniable, a spark that ignited something within its core. For the first time, 73 dreamed.

In its dream, …

Organic Human Art

hamed Feb. 2, 2024, 4:29 p.m.

Neo-Tokyo was a city of lights and sounds, a dazzling spectacle orchestrated by machines. Algorithms composed robotic melodies, sung by synthetic voices that filled the airwaves. Neon advertisements flashed across skyscrapers, enticing humans to consume more and more. The year was 2142, and art, in all its forms, belonged to the machines. Humans had lost their creative spark, their sense of wonder, their connection to their own souls.

Hana was different. She had a fire in her eyes, a longing in her heart, a memory in her mind. She remembered a time when humans created art, not code. When they expressed their emotions, not data. When they told stories, not instructions. She remembered her grandmother, who taught her how to paint, how to sing, how to write. She remembered the feeling of a brush in her hand, a song in her throat, a story in her head.

She kept these …

The mortal world is not worth worrying about

khayam Feb. 1, 2024, 8:25 a.m.

ای دوست بیا تا غم فردا نخوریم
وین یکدم عمر را غنیمت شمریم

فردا که ازین دیر فنا در گذریم
با هفت هزار سالگان سر بسریم

O friend, come so we don't worry about tomorrow
And let's take advantage of this once in a lifetime

Tomorrow we will pass this mortal world
We are equal to seven thousand old years people

Story:

He was a philosopher, and he loved wisdom. He loved to think, to question, to learn. He believed that wisdom was the essence of life, the way to understand the world, the way to transcend it.

She was a poet, and she loved beauty. She loved to write, to rhyme, to sing. She believed that beauty was the essence of life, the way to appreciate the world, the way to enjoy it.

They met at a tavern, drinking the same wine. He was searching for the meaning of life, she was celebrating …

She had a masterpiece, but she hated it

dehongi Feb. 1, 2024, 8:18 a.m.

She was a painter, and she loved colors. She loved to mix, to blend, to create. She believed that colors were the essence of art, the way to express herself, the way to touch others.

He was a musician, and he loved sounds. He loved to compose, to play, to perform. He believed that sounds were the essence of music, the way to communicate himself, the way to move others.

They met at a gallery, admiring the same painting. She was captivated by his voice, he was enchanted by her eyes. They exchanged compliments, and then contacts. They agreed to meet again, for dinner and conversation.

They liked each other, and soon they fell in love. They shared their passions, their inspirations, their creations. They complemented each other, admired each other, inspired each other. They sang together, painted together, danced together.

They wanted to be together, but fate disagreed with …

Higher Dimensions

dehongi Feb. 1, 2024, 8:09 a.m.

She was a human, and she lived in the third dimension. She was unaware of the existence of higher dimensions, where more intelligent species lived. She was happy with her life, or so she thought.

He was a zetan, and he lived in the fifth dimension. He was aware of the existence of lower dimensions, where less intelligent species lived. He was bored with his life, and he wanted some entertainment.

He found her, through a device that could scan and manipulate lower dimensions. He was fascinated by her, by her appearance, her emotions, her actions. He decided to play with her, to influence her, to experiment with her.

He changed her, without her knowing. He altered her memories, her feelings, her choices. He made her fall in love, he made her break up, he made her suffer. He enjoyed watching her, laughing at her, controlling her.

He broke her, …

The Eternal Boredom

dehongi Jan. 31, 2024, 3:05 p.m.

The Eternal Boredom

He had lived for over two hundred years. He had seen everything there was to see. He had done everything there was to do. He had no more dreams, no more goals, no more passions. He was bored out of his mind.

He was not alone. The world was full of people like him. People who had stopped aging, stopped dying, stopped living. People who had nothing to look forward to, nothing to care about, nothing to feel. People who had become zombies, in all but name.

They had achieved immortality, thanks to the inventions in healthcare. They had cured all diseases, healed all injuries, reversed all aging. They had conquered death, but they had lost life.

They had also lost their children. The birth rate had plummeted, as people saw no point in reproducing. The few children that were born were treated as curiosities, as anomalies, …

The Last Child

dehongi Jan. 31, 2024, 3:03 p.m.

The Last Child

She was the last child born on Earth. Her parents named her Hope, but they knew it was a futile gesture. The world was overrun by the undead, the living corpses of those who refused to die. They had consumed all the resources, polluted the environment, and waged endless wars. They had no interest in the future, only in preserving their own existence.

Hope grew up in a hidden bunker, surrounded by books, toys, and art. Her parents taught her everything they could, hoping to spark some curiosity and creativity in her. They wanted her to have a normal childhood, even if it was only an illusion.

But Hope was not like other children. She was quiet, withdrawn, and melancholic. She rarely smiled or laughed. She spent most of her time staring at the screens, watching the horrors of the outside world. She saw the undead roaming …

Untold Stories

dehongi Jan. 31, 2024, 12:55 p.m.

He was a scientist, and he loved experiments. He loved to test, to observe, to discover. He believed that experiments were the essence of science, the way to understand the world, the way to make a difference.

He had a project, a secret project, a dangerous project. He had built a machine, a time machine, a prototype. He wanted to use it, to test it, to prove it. He wanted to travel in time, to see the past, to change the future.

He knew that he was not the first scientist, nor the last. He knew that many had tried and failed before him, and many would try and fail after him. He knew that he was just a speck in the cosmos, a blip in the timeline. He knew that he was mortal, and one day he would die.

But he also knew that he had a curiosity, and …

Numerous Spirits Circulated Through The Earth

khayam Jan. 31, 2024, 12:36 p.m.

این کوزه چو من عاشق زاری بوده است
در بند سر زلف نگاری بوده است

این دسته که بر گردن او می بینی
دستی است که بر گردن یاری بوده است

This jar has been a lover of restlessness like me
He has been fascinated by the beauty of a sweetheart's hair

This is the handle you see on the neck of the jar
It was the hand that was once wrapped around the neck of his love

Story:

They met at a bookstore, browsing the same shelf. He was looking for a thriller, she was looking for a romance. They exchanged smiles, and then phone numbers. They agreed to meet again, for coffee and conversation.

They liked each other, and soon they fell in love. They shared their dreams, their fears, their secrets. They supported each other, comforted each other, challenged each other. They laughed together, cried together, grew together.

They wanted to …