Flash Stories

The Last Coal Worker

hamed Jan. 14, 2025, 4:21 p.m.

Adi stood on the edge of the empty mine, the vast crater stretching before him like an open wound. Dust clung to his boots and his hands, even though it had been months since the machines stopped roaring. The silence felt unnatural.

For thirty years, he had worked these pits, carving black veins from the earth that powered cities he’d never seen. The coal was life—it paid for his children’s schooling, his parents’ medicine, and the simple house in the village where his wife planted flowers. Now, it was nothing.

Indonesia was moving on. “Green energy,” they called it. Solar farms and wind turbines were sprouting where smokestacks once stood. The government offered training programs, new skills for a cleaner future. Adi had attended one last week, sitting awkwardly in a classroom filled with younger men and women. They talked about batteries and circuits, things he barely understood. …

The Trader's Gambit

hamed Jan. 16, 2025, 5:24 p.m.

The charts glowed red on Alan’s multiple monitors, an unbroken sea of collapsing currencies. Headlines screamed chaos: “Emerging Market Meltdown,” “Hyperinflation Devours South America,” “African Nations Abandon Fiat.”

Alan leaned back in his chair, the taste of stale coffee bitter on his tongue. He’d seen crashes before, but this was different. It wasn’t just a country or two—it was a global unraveling. Nations pegged to the dollar were unpegging, digital reserves were being frozen, and central banks were scrambling to stay afloat.

His trading terminal pinged: another alert. The Turkish lira had just dropped 50% against the dollar overnight. He tapped the keyboard, glancing at the data stream.

“Turkey’s gone,” he muttered, shaking his head.

The door to his apartment creaked open, and his wife, Lena, peeked in. “You’ve been at this all night. Any wins?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Wins? Not exactly. Profits, sure—but at what cost? He’d shorted …

The Last Argument

hamed Jan. 12, 2025, 5:55 p.m.

The fire was a distant glow on the ridgeline when the argument began, its orange hue flickering through the windows of the Harper family’s living room.

“We’re not leaving,” said Joe, the father, his voice firm as he paced near the window. “This is our home. I built this place with my bare hands, and I’m not letting some fire take it.”

“Dad, you can’t fight a wildfire with a garden hose,” snapped his daughter, Lily, her face flushed with frustration. She stood by the door, car keys clenched in her hand. “We need to go now. The evacuation order isn’t a suggestion!”

“I’m with Lily,” said Mia, Joe’s wife, her voice trembling. “What if the winds shift? What if we get trapped?”

Joe spun around, his face darkening. “We’ve been through fires before. We stayed, and we made it out fine.”

“That was different,” Mia shot back. “This one’s …

A New Era Begins

hamed Jan. 16, 2025, 6:10 p.m.

The weight of the crown was heavier than Philip II had ever imagined. As he stood in the dimly lit chamber of the Alcázar of Madrid, his hands trembled ever so slightly as he adjusted the heavy golden circlet that marked him as King of Spain. The room was silent, save for the crackling of the fire in the hearth and the faint clinking of armor from the guards stationed at the door. But within him, a storm was raging.

It was 1556, and the empire his father, Charles V, had left behind was vast and unruly, spanning continents and stretching across oceans. The Holy Roman Empire, the Netherlands, Italy, the Americas—he was now the steward of it all. But it wasn’t just the sprawling territories that weighed on him; it was the expectations. The delicate dance of politics, the balance of power, the fragile alliances, and the growing pressures …

The Great Egg Panic

hamed Jan. 24, 2025, 10:20 a.m.

In the year 2147, the world was powered by AI—smart cities, smart cars, smart homes, smart everything. Humanity had long since delegated even the most mundane tasks to machines. No one cooked, cleaned, or even planned a meal. There was an app for everything, and the app was always on point. Want breakfast? Just open the SmartFridge app, select “Eggs Benedict,” and voilà—breakfast is served.

But one day, at precisely 10:32 AM, the unthinkable happened: the internet went down. For the first time in centuries, the world went silent—not a tweet, not a message, not a status update. The AI systems went dark.

And that’s when the chaos began.

At the global headquarters of EggCo, a well-known provider of breakfast automation, CEO Karen scrambled to check her tablet. Nothing. No Wi-Fi. No SmartFridge. No EggBenedictApp.

"How do you even cook an egg?" Karen muttered, staring at the refrigerator as if …

White Silence

hamed Jan. 17, 2025, 2:15 p.m.

The wind howled like a wolf circling its prey, rattling the windows of the small farmhouse. Snow piled higher by the hour, burying the fences and erasing the world beyond the walls. Inside, the Murphy family huddled close to the crackling fire.

Pa paced the room, his shadow flickering on the log walls. "If this keeps up, the barn’ll collapse under the weight," he muttered, pulling on his coat.

"You’re not going out there," Ma snapped, clutching her shawl. "You’ll freeze before you get halfway."

"I won’t lose the animals, Margaret."

"You’ll lose yourself. Then what’ll we do?"

Their eldest, Sarah, watched in silence, her little brother Timmy tucked under her arm. The boy’s face was pale, his breath shallow—he’d been coughing for days, and the cold made it worse.

"We could dig a tunnel," Sarah said suddenly.

Pa stopped pacing. "What?"

"A tunnel. To the barn. We could make …

The Final Blade

hamed Jan. 17, 2025, 2:46 p.m.

Rain tapped against the narrow cell window, a rhythmic reminder of time slipping away. Marcel Chevalier sat on the hard cot, his fingers tracing the edges of a worn photograph. It showed a young woman with a bright smile, her hand resting protectively on a boy’s shoulder. His son. A family now reduced to a memory.

The execution was set for dawn. The guillotine, an ancient relic in a modern age, waited in the courtyard. Marcel had heard the guards whisper earlier, their voices laced with unease. “The last one,” they said. “France doesn’t do this anymore.”

He thought about that. Being the last. A final punctuation mark in the story of a justice system that had severed countless lives. Would his death mean anything?

A knock broke his reverie. The chaplain entered, his face somber but kind. “Marcel,” he began gently, “have you considered what we spoke of yesterday? …

Embers of the Earth

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 5:33 p.m.

Jenna had been a firefighter long enough to know that the crackling fire on the horizon was a harbinger of destruction, but nothing could prepare her for the enormity of what was coming. The sun, a fiery orb behind the smoke, painted the sky with the color of rage, its heat suffocating the land.

The fires had started as a whisper in the distance—an ember, a spark, a small flame. But by the time she and her team arrived, the inferno was a monstrous roar, devouring everything in its path. She gripped her hose tighter, her hands raw from the constant pressure. "We fight, we don’t run," she whispered to herself, but the words felt hollow.

As the fire raged, the thick, choking smoke made it hard to see, harder to breathe. The world around them was an endless sea of orange and black. Jenna’s mind flashed back to her …

The Song of the Sea

hamed Jan. 22, 2025, 8:37 p.m.

Tama stood at the edge of the beach, the cool morning breeze tugging at his hoodie. The waves crashed against the shore, their rhythm steady and ancient, like the heartbeat of the land itself. This was his place—the stretch of sand and sea where he’d learned to swim, where his grandfather had taught him to fish, and where he’d always felt most alive. But today, the horizon was marred by the silhouette of cranes and bulldozers, their growling engines drowning out the cries of the gulls.

The developers had arrived a week ago, their signs planted in the sand like flags claiming territory. "Luxury Oceanfront Resorts Coming Soon!" they proclaimed. Tama’s stomach churned every time he saw them. This beach wasn’t just a piece of land; it was a part of him, a part of his whakapapa—his lineage. His ancestors had walked these shores, and their stories were etched into …

Arash the Archer

hamed Dec. 24, 2024, 6:05 p.m.

In a time long past, where the mountains kissed the skies, and the rivers sang songs of legends, there stood the mighty kingdom of Parsa. This kingdom was renowned for its valorous knights and wise rulers, its tales etched in the annals of time by none other than the venerable poet, Ferdowsi.

Among the tales of Parsa, the story of Arash, the swift archer, was one that echoed through the ages. The land was under the ominous shadow of war. The neighboring realm of Turan, coveting Parsa's fertile lands, had declared war. The battle raged for months, leaving fields scorched and rivers red.

Desperate for peace, the rulers of both kingdoms sought a resolution. It was decreed that the new boundary would be set by the furthest arrow shot from the peak of Mount Damavand. Parsa's hope lay in Arash, a humble yet legendary archer, whose arrows were said to …