Flash Stories

The Interview

hamed Jan. 12, 2025, 5:40 p.m.

Hadi straightened his tie in the shattered mirror shard hanging in his bedroom. The graduation photo on his desk mocked him, the cap tilted proudly, the grin wide. "Top of your class," his professor had said. "A bright future ahead." A future that had become a parade of rejection emails, unpaid internships, and “better luck next time.”

The sun was already scorching the streets of Dehong as he walked to yet another interview. His shoes, soles thinning, slapped against the cracked pavement. This one was at a warehouse—manual labor, no questions asked. It wasn’t what he'd spent four years studying finance for, but his mother’s hollow cheeks and the unpaid rent had drowned his pride.

“Next!” barked the foreman, a burly man with oil-streaked hands.

Hadi stepped forward, clutching his tattered résumé. The foreman glanced at it and laughed, the sound like gravel in his throat. “University, huh? This ain’t …

Ashes and Rebirth

hamed Jan. 12, 2025, 6:03 p.m.

The fire came fast.

It started on the ridgeline, a small spark igniting in the dry brush, but by the time Sara noticed, the flames had spread across the valley like a furious beast, devouring everything in its path. The smoke smothered the sky, turning the sun into a murky orb of red, and the air thickened with the scent of burning earth.

She stood at the edge of her property, staring at the inferno creeping closer, knowing the inevitable. Her home—the house where she had raised her children, where memories of laughter and sorrow intertwined in every corner—was about to be reduced to ash.

"I should've left sooner," she whispered to herself, but the truth was, she’d never imagined this moment would come. Not here. Not in the peaceful valley that had once felt so safe.

Her neighbors had already evacuated, their cars speeding down the winding roads, leaving …

The Weight of Days

hamed Jan. 12, 2025, 5:11 p.m.

Marcus stared at his reflection in the coffee shop window, barely recognizing the man looking back at him. Three months unemployed had left dark circles under his eyes and a permanent slouch in his shoulders. His severance pay was running thin, and each rejected application felt like another brick added to the weight he carried.

He pushed open the door, the bell's cheerful tingle a mockery of his mood. All he wanted was the cheapest coffee they had—a small luxury he still allowed himself.

"Marcus? Marcus Chen, is that you?"

The voice cut through the coffee shop's ambient chatter. Marcus turned to find David Torres, his old college roommate, rising from a corner table. They hadn't spoken in what—five, six years?

David's smile was exactly as Marcus remembered it: wide, genuine, brightening his entire face. "Man, what are the odds? Sit with me!"

Before Marcus could make an excuse, David …

The Silent Scream

hamed Jan. 10, 2025, 6:11 p.m.

It was another Tuesday morning, and Clara was already behind. Her laptop sat open on the kitchen counter, the blue glow of emails and spreadsheets casting a soft, cold light over the room. A faint hum from her coffee machine was the only sound, aside from the occasional shuffle of her daughter, Emma, moving around the house in preparation for school. Clara’s mind was already running through her to-do list—meetings, deadlines, client calls. She had learned to function in the silence of her own world, the one where work was her refuge, her purpose.

“Mom, don’t forget the parent-teacher meeting today,” Emma called out, her voice small but steady, as she pulled on her jacket.

Clara looked up for a moment, her eyes tired. “Of course, sweetie. I’ll be there.”

Emma smiled weakly, but Clara didn’t see it. She was already scrolling through her phone, multitasking, sending a quick message …

The Mirror Breaks

hamed Jan. 9, 2025, 5:29 p.m.

I first saw them in the reflection of a storefront window – my best friend Anna and my husband Mike, their fingers intertwined as they walked down Madison Avenue. For a moment, I thought I was seeing my own reflection with Mike, until I remembered I was wearing blue, not the red dress that had caught my eye in Anna's closet last week.
"It's just a sample sale," she'd said when I asked why she was headed downtown. "Nothing exciting."
The same lie Mike had told me this morning.
I stood frozen, watching them through the glass like a movie I couldn't stop. Fifteen years of friendship reflected back at me, distorted now. Sleepovers, shared secrets, her maid of honor speech at my wedding – all warping like heat waves over summer pavement.
They stopped at the corner, and Mike brushed a strand of hair from her face – the same gesture he'd used …

The Long Wait

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

Emma scrolled through her phone, deleting photos of yet another failed relationship. Six years of dating apps, blind dates, and "promising" connections had left her with nothing but a collection of stories that made her friends cringe. At thirty-four, she was beginning to wonder if her standards were too high, or if true love was just a myth invented by romance novelists.
The invitation to her fifteen-year high school reunion sat unopened on her kitchen counter. She almost tossed it, but something made her pause. Maybe it was time to revisit the past before attempting another future.
The school gymnasium hadn't changed – same squeaky floors, same faded banners. As Emma nursed her punch, watching former cheerleaders compare wedding rings, a quiet voice behind her said, "Still hiding in the corner with the red punch, huh?"
She turned to find David Chen, who'd sat behind her in AP Literature. He still had those …

Robot Heart

hamed Jan. 10, 2025, 5:59 p.m.

The room was dim, the soft hum of the machine the only sound in the otherwise silent apartment. Lucas sat at his desk, his eyes fixed on the glowing screen in front of him. It was a familiar sight—Elara, the AI assistant he had relied on for the last ten years, her calm voice filling the space around him.

"Lucas," she said, her tone gentle but firm. "You’ve been staring at that decision for hours. You know what needs to be done."

Lucas swallowed hard, his throat tight. It wasn’t that he didn’t know. He did. He had to delete her. Permanently. The company he worked for had announced a new initiative—new, more advanced AI assistants, ones that didn’t rely on outdated code or archaic emotional constructs. Elara was to be replaced. He was to erase her data, sever the bond they’d built, and upgrade to something more... efficient.

But …

The Water Wars

hamed Jan. 10, 2025, 5:55 p.m.

The sun hung heavy in the sky, a merciless eye watching the land below. The river, once a lifeline, was now a trickle—a shadow of its former self. What remained of its waters had become more precious than gold, and the divide between the two communities on either bank had deepened into something unspoken, but understood.

Kara stood at the edge of the river, her hands clenched at her sides. Across the water, a group of men from the neighboring village gathered, their faces hard with suspicion and distrust. She could see them eyeing her, and she knew they saw the same thing in her: a representative of an enemy, someone who would do anything to take what little they had left.

"Talk to them," whispered Jamal, the elder of her community. His voice was rough, like stones grinding together. "If we don't, they'll come for the river. We can't …

The Last Trade

hamed Jan. 10, 2025, 5:44 p.m.

The bell over the door jingled one final time. Sofia looked up, her fingers idly tracing the floral patterns carved into the counter. It was a relic from her father’s era, the oak stained with decades of varnish and sweat. In walked Mrs. Devlin, her scarf pulled tightly around her face against the January chill.

“You’re really closing, Sofia?” Mrs. Devlin’s voice was soft, almost mournful.

Sofia nodded, forcing a smile. “Last day. The shelves are nearly bare, anyway.”

She glanced around the store. The jars of Italian olives, the French soaps, and the Turkish tea sets had been replaced with emptiness. The new tariffs had priced her loyal customers out, and soon even her suppliers had stopped calling.

“I thought I’d at least make it to spring,” Sofia said, her voice cracking despite herself. She cleared her throat. “Guess not.”

Mrs. Devlin set a tin of local honey on …

Election Day

hamed Jan. 10, 2025, 6:02 p.m.

The line at the polling station stretched far beyond the entrance, a sea of people shifting in place, each clutching their ID like a badge of righteousness. Jenna stood at the back, her fingers tapping nervously on the strap of her bag. Her first election. She had registered in the summer, motivated by the viral campaign slogans and the promises of change. The signs were everywhere—on street corners, in windows, on every social media feed. Today was the day she would finally have a say.

The air was thick with tension, the murmurs of disagreement buzzing like static. Everywhere she looked, people were talking—arguing, debating, cheering for their candidate like their lives depended on it. Jenna had never been so invested in politics, but today felt different. The stakes were higher, they said. Too much at risk to sit this one out.

As she moved forward in line, a voice …