Flash Stories

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 She was quiet, withdrawn, and melancholic.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 …

Keanu Reeves Insult Incident

hamed Jan. 22, 2025, 9:26 p.m.

It all started at the Downtown Coffeehouse, a hip, overpriced place that served overpriced drinks in even more overpriced mugs. It was a typical Wednesday morning, and the place was bustling with people—laptops open, air thick with the smell of artisan beans, and the faint hum of indie music. No one expected the world to be changed that day, least of all Frank.

Frank was the guy in the corner booth, the one who always ordered the same thing: a triple-shot iced espresso, extra foam, no whip. He was also the guy who didn't quite get the vibe of the place. He wore a suit, which was fine except he didn’t work in finance, and his hair was always a little too neat for the “I’m a creative professional” look. He didn’t care, though. He just needed his coffee and his quiet time.

That morning, something unusual happened. Frank was …

The Last Log-Out

hamed Jan. 30, 2025, 7:09 p.m.

Ethan had always been a daydreamer. But in the virtual world, he was a king.

The VR game Elysium wasn’t just an escape—it was freedom. Every day after school, he’d slip into his headset, leave behind his cramped apartment, his overworked mom, his distant friends, and enter a paradise where he could do whatever he wanted.

He was the hero in a world of endless possibilities.

The first few months had been exhilarating. Fighting dragons, exploring vast cities, making allies who seemed more real than his classmates—Elysium was everything. But then, his grades started slipping. His friends stopped calling. He didn’t even hear his mom’s voice anymore when she came home from work.

One evening, after an epic battle with a mechanical leviathan, Ethan paused to catch his breath. He took off his headset for a second to grab a drink. The apartment was silent, too quiet. The screensaver on …

A Curtain Divides the World - Prologue

dehongi Jan. 17, 2025, 6:36 p.m.

In Arash's world, everything came in pairs but was never allowed to mix. There were two entrances to every building: one for men, marked with bold, no-nonsense letters, and another for women, adorned with a flower motif that no one questioned. There were two sections in restaurants, separated by a curtain so thick it could muffle a scream, and even two lines at the bakery, as though bread had a gender preference.
But it was school where the divide felt the strongest. Arash’s all-boys school was a loud, chaotic world of roughhousing, competitive shouting, and an unspoken rule that everything, from pencils to playground arguments, must involve some form of combat. Across the street was the girls' school, a fortress of pastel walls and floral murals that seemed to hum with a serene, mysterious energy. For years, Arash and his classmates had speculated wildly about what went on behind its gates.
“Do …

The Threads of Fate: Prologue

dehongi Jan. 25, 2025, 3:51 p.m.

The old man sat by the window, his frail hands trembling as they gripped the edge of the chair. The soft glow of the evening sun streamed through the glass, casting long shadows across the room, though he no longer had the strength to rise and chase them away. His once-dark hair had long since faded to a shade of grey, and his eyes, though clouded with age, still held the glint of something unspoken—a memory, a secret, a truth that was slowly revealing itself.

Outside, the world carried on. The sounds of distant voices, the chirping of birds, the rustling of trees in the wind—these were the things he had grown used to over the years. Yet today, all of it felt distant, as if the very fabric of his reality was starting to unravel, piece by piece.

His life had been a series of choices. Some large, some …

All the News Fit to Print

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 4:41 p.m.

Henry Jarvis stared at the printing press, its gears clanking like a restless machine ready to birth something monumental. Around him, the newsroom buzzed with the frantic energy of ambition and nerves. The air smelled of ink and candle wax, the soft glow flickering against stacks of freshly written articles.

“Jarvis! Stop gawking and hand me that proof,” called George Jones, the paper’s co-founder. His sharp tone belied the bags under his eyes, evidence of sleepless nights spent molding their vision into reality.

Henry handed him the proof, his hands smudged with ink. “It’s all there, sir. The editorials, the local crime report, the financial updates, and the steamship schedules. We even got the story on the European revolutions.”

Jones skimmed the pages, his expression caught between pride and exhaustion. “Good. But don’t forget, this isn’t just a collection of stories. It’s a statement. We’re not here to sensationalize—we’re here …

The Threads of Fate | Chapter 4: The Forgotten Friendship

dehongi Jan. 25, 2025, 4:11 p.m.

The old man sat in his chair, staring at the crackling fire in the hearth, the warmth of the flames mingling with the cold weight of his thoughts. It was another one of those moments where the years seemed to blur together, where the regret of choices long past crept into his mind, uninvited but persistent. Among the many crossroads in his life, there was one choice that always haunted him—the choice to hold onto a friendship that had long since frayed, a friendship that had started full of promise but ended in bitterness.

He could still remember the day it all began to unravel.

It was during his late twenties, when the world seemed wide open, and the future was a canvas waiting to be painted. His best friend, Arash, had been like a brother to him—someone who shared in his dreams, his ambitions, and his youthful naivety. They …

The Fire Beneath the Cypress

hamed Dec. 25, 2024, 10:44 a.m.

In the heart of Shiraz, where the scent of orange blossoms swirled through the night air, Layli sat beneath the ancient cypress tree. Her fingers traced the letters carved into its bark—a poem etched by a long-dead lover. The words burned with yearning, though their author was dust, and the ink of their longing had long dried.

Layli waited, as she had every evening for the past month. Her beloved, Ramin, a wandering poet, had promised to return before the new moon waned. But the crescent now grew thinner, and her hope flickered like a candle caught in the wind.

Stories from the Shahnameh spoke of heroes who crossed deserts and mountains for love. Layli whispered their names like a prayer, but in her heart, she knew Ramin was no Rustam, no Sohrab. He was only a poet, a man whose words could make the heavens weep, yet whose hands …

The Case of the Missing Semicolon

hamed Jan. 8, 2025, 7:43 p.m.

In the bustling city of Codeville, where algorithms roamed and data structures thrived, there was a detective known for solving the most perplexing cases of the digital age. His name was Syntax, and his badge was a shiny if statement.

One foggy morning, as Syntax sipped his binary coffee, an urgent message beeped through his console. It was from the mayor of Codeville, Loop Mayor, whose programs had been running flawlessly until yesterday.

"Detective Syntax," the message read, "a semicolon has gone missing from my latest project. Without it, my world is in chaos. Please, find it before the next compilation!"

Syntax donned his trench coat, which was lined with pseudocode, and set off into the binary streets. He knew that in Codeville, every semicolon was crucial, a linchpin in the delicate balance of code execution.

His first stop was at the notorious Syntax Error Café, where he found …

Musk, Trump, and the Staff That Couldn't

hamed Jan. 24, 2025, 7:20 p.m.

It was barely a week into Trump’s presidency, and already the White House staff was on edge. The halls, normally bustling with the usual back-and-forth of political maneuvering, had a new rhythm: a mix of frustration and fear, punctuated by occasional mutterings of “Elon Musk, that damn guy.”

Musk, as he always did, had shown up out of nowhere—this time in the middle of a meeting about... well, honestly, no one quite knew what it was about. It didn’t matter. It was Elon Musk, and that meant things were about to get weird.

"Alright, folks," Trump said, flipping through a pile of papers, "we’ve got some important discussions on space, energy, the economy. Lots of big things."

Just then, the door swung open with dramatic flair.

Musk, in his signature black hoodie and jeans, strolled in holding a model of a rocket.

"Sorry I’m late, gentlemen," Musk said nonchalantly, looking …