Flash Stories

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 Broadcast

hamed Jan. 10, 2025, 6:17 p.m.

Mia sat in the dim light of her living room, the steady hum of the television filling the silence. The night was quiet, a far cry from the chaos that had started earlier in the day. News stories flickered across the screen, mundane things—political debates, celebrity scandals, weather reports. But then, as the anchor’s voice dropped to a solemn tone, something changed.

“—In a groundbreaking development, scientists have confirmed the existence of an ancient, forgotten civilization beneath the surface of the Earth. Hidden for millennia, their technology, possibly centuries ahead of our own, could have major implications for how we understand our history and the future of our planet. The implications are—”

Mia’s breath caught in her throat. She leaned forward, eyes locked on the screen, heart racing. She couldn’t have heard that right. But as the anchor repeated the headline, the words solidified in her mind, each syllable like …

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 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 …

Ali form Dehong

zaka Dec. 31, 2023, 7:01 a.m.

Ali had always wanted to be a pilot. He loved watching the planes fly over his village, leaving white trails in the blue sky. He loved reading books and magazines about aviation, learning the names and models of different aircrafts. He loved imagining himself in the cockpit, soaring above the clouds, exploring the world.

But Ali also loved his family and their farm. He loved the cows that gave them milk, cheese, and butter. He loved the Zaka brand that his father had created, named after his mother's maiden name. He loved the customers who appreciated their products, and the reputation they had built in the region.

Ali was torn between two dreams, two paths, two destinies. He wanted to pursue his passion for flying, but he also wanted to continue his family's legacy. He wondered if he could ever have both, or if he had to choose one over …

Three Years, One Hundred Leaps

hamed Jan. 8, 2025, 7:52 p.m.

When Harold finally opened his eyes, he was expecting to see the familiar, slightly outdated hospital room where he last remembered dozing off. Instead, he was greeted by walls that seemed to breathe with life, changing colors like a chameleon at a disco. The bed was no longer a bed but more of a floating cloud of comfort, and there was no nurse in sight—just a shiny, hovering orb with a cheerful voice.

"Welcome back, Harold!" the orb chirped. "You've been out for precisely three years, but don't worry, you've missed about a century's worth of advancements!"

Harold blinked, trying to process this. "Three years? A century? What kind of math is that?"

The orb, which introduced itself as NurseBot 3000, explained with a giggle, "Oh, that's just AI acceleration for you! We've had some... let's say, 'creative' updates."

First, Harold noticed his new attire. Instead of hospital gowns, he …

The Last Email

hamed Jan. 8, 2025, 10:57 a.m.

It started with an email. Arman had worked late every night that month, chasing a promotion he’d been promised. But when the announcement came, the job went to Omid, his smooth-talking coworker. Arman was crushed—and then the truth came out. A stray email, accidentally forwarded, revealed it all: Omid had spread lies about Arman to their manager, calling him unreliable, even hinting at a drinking problem.

Arman didn’t confront him. What was the point? Omid was untouchable, always grinning as if life were a game he’d already won. Instead, Arman saved the email in a folder labeled Later. He didn’t know what he’d do with it, but the thought of someday using it gave him a quiet satisfaction.

Months passed. Omid soared up the corporate ladder, while Arman stayed stuck in his cubicle, resentment festering. Then came the scandal.

It turned out Omid had been embezzling funds—cleverly at first, but …

The Memory Collector

hamed Jan. 10, 2025, 5:36 p.m.

Daniel's grandmother left him an old smartphone when she died. Not money, not jewelry, not her cherished recipe book – just an iPhone 6 with a cracked screen and a Post-it note that read: "One photo every day. You'll understand."

At first, he thought dementia had finally won. His grandmother had never owned a smartphone; she could barely operate the TV remote. Yet here was this device, its battery somehow still holding a charge, filled with 4,380 photos – exactly one per day for the past twelve years.

The first photo was of a half-eaten toast on a blue plate. The second, a pigeon on a windowsill. The third, his grandfather's reading glasses left on yesterday's newspaper. Mundane moments, captured with trembling hands and poor framing.

He almost deleted them all until he noticed the pattern. Every photo had a story, written in the Notes app with surprising technological proficiency:

The Great AI Bake-Off

hamed Jan. 8, 2025, 7:46 p.m.

In the digital realm where tweets flew like breadcrumbs, there was a new culinary craze sweeping across X (formerly Twitter). It was the era of the AI Bake-Off, where artificial intelligence algorithms were not just writing code but now attempting to bake the perfect cake.

The stage was set in the virtual kitchen of CloudBakers, an innovative tech startup that decided to merge the worlds of AI and gastronomy. The star of the show was Chef AI, an algorithm trained on thousands of recipes, culinary videos, and cooking blogs.

The day of the competition arrived, and Chef AI was to face off against Chef Human, a renowned baker with hands that had kneaded more dough than lines of code Chef AI had processed. The challenge? To bake a vegan chocolate cake that would make even the most hardcore carnivore's mouth water.

Chef AI started with all the confidence of …

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 …