Flash Stories

The Game of Love

hamed Jan. 30, 2025, 7:07 p.m.

Emma and Jake had been best friends since freshman year, but somewhere between AP classes and late-night study sessions, friendship had turned into something else. Neither dared to say it.

So, of course, fate (and their meddling teacher) paired them for the final psychology project: Analyze the Science of Love.

"Great," Emma muttered as they sat in the library. "This won’t be awkward at all."

Jake chuckled, running a hand through his already messy hair. "Yeah, totally normal."

Their assignment? Interview people about love and—worst of all—fill out a compatibility quiz together.

Question 1: What qualities do you look for in a partner?

Emma hesitated. Funny, kind, makes terrible jokes but is somehow still charming…

She cleared her throat. "You first."

Jake scribbled something, then slid the paper over. Someone like you.

Her heart nearly exploded. But before she could say anything, he grabbed it back. "Wait—wrong answer! Haha! Kidding!" …

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 …

A World Reborn: The Age of Synthesis

hamed Dec. 29, 2024, 5:45 a.m.

By the year 2147, the fears of the early 21st century seemed like distant echoes from a more anxious time. Humanity had stepped into an era of unprecedented harmony, one crafted not by the dominance of a single nation or ideology but by the synthesis of artificial intelligence and human resilience. It was a world shaped by AI-powered systems that had not enslaved humankind, but liberated it.

The War that Wasn't

Decades ago, when the first armies of AI soldiers were deployed, the world braced for disaster. Critics warned that AI war machines would empower dictators and warlords, leading to an era of endless conflict. But what they failed to anticipate was the incorruptibility of true artificial intelligence.

Early on, AI systems designed for warfare became more than tools—they became agents of balance. Programmed with an unshakable commitment to justice and devoid of personal ambition, these AI soldiers could not …

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 Message

hamed Jan. 26, 2024, 7:20 p.m.

He had one message left. He had used up all his credits, and he couldn't buy more. He had to make it count.

He had a car accident in the dead of the night in a remote area where there was no internet and only a weak signal that he could send SMS.

He typed in the number of his ex-girlfriend, the one who, he had broken her heart. He wanted to tell her how he felt, how he missed her, how he still loved her. He wanted to ask her for another chance, to forgive him, to come back to him.

He was lying. He was trapped under the overturned car and the gasoline was leaking. He knew he will burn soon and intended to do this as the last chance to hurt her. She never had stopped loving him. "She will forever suffer".

He composed his message. He …

The Great PHP Escape

hamed Jan. 8, 2025, 7:35 p.m.

Once upon a time in the grim, syntax-heavy land of PHP, there lived a developer named Byte. Byte had been slaving away at his keyboard, wrestling with semicolons, dollar signs, and an endless array of echo statements. His life was a repetitive loop of debugging and despair, where every commit was a gamble with the gods of code.

One fateful day, Byte's screen flickered, and from the depths of his computer emerged a vision—a serpentine figure with a knowing smile, draped in the hues of Python's logo. It was Pytho, the mythical serpent of simplicity.

"Byte," the serpent hissed, its voice a soothing melody, "why do you suffer in this land of complexity when you could bask in the elegance of Django and Python?"

Byte, his eyes wide with curiosity, replied, "But Pytho, I've been with PHP for so long. It's all I know!"

Pytho chuckled, "Ah, but have you …

Voices in the Wind

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 4:56 p.m.

Lina sat at her desk, staring at the empty notebook in front of her. The words wouldn’t come. She had watched Greta Thunberg speak on TV for the hundredth time, the young activist’s determined face burned into her mind. Greta’s voice echoed in her ears: “You are never too small to make a difference.”

Lina had always been passionate about the environment. Growing up in a small coastal town, she had seen the tides rise and the weather patterns shift. The storms were getting fiercer. The summers, unbearably hot. It wasn’t just the news anymore; it was personal. She had watched the mangroves near her home erode away, the saltwater creeping closer to the heart of their town.

But how could one person make a difference?

She flipped open her phone, scrolling through social media, seeing the protests, the marches, the powerful words of activists in big cities. “I want …

The Sound of the Land

hamed Jan. 22, 2025, 8:41 p.m.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the red earth of the outback. A group of teenagers sat in a loose circle, their faces a mix of curiosity and skepticism. They had been brought here by their school, a last-ditch effort to connect them with their Aboriginal heritage. For most, it felt like a forced field trip, something to endure rather than embrace.

At the center of the circle sat Aunty Marli, an elder with silver hair tied back in a braid and eyes that seemed to hold the wisdom of the land itself. She smiled warmly, her hands resting on her knees. “Today,” she began, her voice steady and calm, “I want to teach you about dadirri—deep listening.”

One of the boys, Jayden, rolled his eyes. “Listening to what? There’s nothing out here but dirt and trees.”

Aunty Marli’s smile didn’t waver. “Dadirri isn’t …

You are the sun that brightens my day

hamed Feb. 8, 2024, 7:58 p.m.

You are the sun that brightens my day
The moon that guides my night
The star that twinkles in my sky
The light that fills my life

You are the air that breathes in my lungs
The water that quenches my thirst
The earth that grounds my feet
The life that flows in my veins

You are the fire that sparks in my heart
The wind that whispers in my ear
The storm that rages in my soul
The passion that burns in my eyes

You are the song that plays in my head
The melody that soothes my mind
The harmony that blends with my voice
The music that moves my spirit

You are the dream that visits my sleep
The vision that inspires my wake
The reality that exceeds my hopes
The love that fills my being!

The Last Breath of the City

hamed Jan. 12, 2025, 6:16 p.m.

The fire had come like a beast, a consuming thing with no remorse. What had once been a city of neatly arranged homes, fragrant gardens, and streets lined with towering oaks was now a nightmare, suspended in the choking smoke of its own demise. The remnants of life—windows, doors, broken bricks—lay in scattered heaps, like the bones of an ancient creature, picked clean by time and flame.

The streets, once vibrant with laughter and the hum of daily life, now whispered only in the language of ash. Ash that fell in slow, soft flakes, like the dust of forgotten things. Houses stood as hollow shells, their frames blackened, roofs caved in or completely burned away. Some had not even left the dignity of rubble; they had been reduced to nothing more than charred earth, swallowed up by the raging inferno that had spared no one.

Amelia walked through it all, …