Flash Stories

Legacy

hamed Jan. 14, 2025, 4:56 p.m.

Maya traced her finger along the spines of medical textbooks, remembering how her mother had done the same with cookbooks in their old apartment's kitchenette. The residency acceptance letter lay unopened on her desk, next to a stack of loan statements that made her stomach clench.

"You're going to be a doctor," her mother would say between double shifts at the diner, pressing cold compresses to her swollen feet. "Like your father wanted to be, before..." The sentence always trailed off there, into the space left by his death. No life insurance, just mounting medical bills that her mother was still paying off twenty years later.

Her phone buzzed – a text from her cousin James: "Starting at Goldman next week! Dad's old roommate came through. Dinner at the club to celebrate?"

Maya smiled, remembering summers at James's house, swimming in their pool while her mother cleaned their rooms. Aunt …

The Quiet Room

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 4:49 p.m.

The apartment was quieter than it had ever been. Lila sat in the corner of the living room, her laptop open in front of her, but she couldn’t focus on the Zoom call. Her mind wandered as her 10-year-old son, Tommy, bounced a ball against the wall for the hundredth time today. Her husband, Ryan, was pacing back and forth in the kitchen, talking on the phone with someone at work about the latest developments. The entire world seemed to be on fire, and their small apartment had become a little island, still and full of tension.

"Can you stop?" Lila called to Tommy, her voice tight with exhaustion. She hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in weeks. Every day felt like it blended into the next, the line between work and home long erased.

Tommy stopped the ball and sat down on the couch, but his restless energy was …

Beyond the Horizon

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 6:26 p.m.

Commander Elena Vasquez stood at the edge of the launch pad, the roar of the engines in the distance vibrating through her chest. The Crew Dragon capsule, sleek and white against the bright blue sky, sat poised like an arrow ready to pierce the heavens. It was almost time.

Her gloves felt tight, the material too smooth, too unfamiliar. She flexed her fingers inside the suit, willing her hands to stop shaking. The mission was historic—SpaceX’s first crewed launch to the International Space Station. But for Elena, it wasn’t the technology that filled her with awe. It was the people who had made it possible, the years of preparation, the endless nights of training. And most of all, it was the dream—her dream—that had started when she was just a little girl, watching the moon landing with her father, the stars above whispering her name.

"Commander Vasquez, are you ready?" …

The Divide in the Classroom

hamed Jan. 14, 2025, 4:39 p.m.

Maria sat at the back of the crowded classroom, her textbooks worn and barely holding together. The fluorescent lights flickered above her, and the hum of the old air conditioning did little to mask the chatter from her classmates. The community college she attended felt like a far cry from the prestigious universities her friends from high school had gone on to. She had taken the public bus to class again today, the trip stretching across hours as she squeezed into the cramped seats, her backpack heavy with assignments she could barely afford to complete.

She tugged her sweater tighter around her shoulders, trying to focus on the professor’s lecture, but her mind wandered to the other things—the bills her mother still hadn’t paid, the second-hand laptop that crashed every time she tried to write a paper, the part-time job she worked to scrape by. She hadn’t wanted to go …

The Last Tide

hamed Jan. 18, 2025, 4:18 p.m.

The sky was orange-gray, the sun a pale disk smothered in ash. Maya stared out the window of their small coastal home, watching the waves claw closer to the dunes. The wind howled, rattling the loose boards of the house, but it was the silence inside that pressed hardest on her chest.

“We need to leave,” her brother Kiran said, his voice steady but tight. He stood by the front door with his duffel bag slung over one shoulder, ready to go. He’d been ready for weeks.

Dad didn’t look up from the kitchen table. His rough hands cradled a chipped coffee mug, the same one he used every morning. “This house is all we have left,” he muttered. “If we leave, where do we go?”

“The shelters are overcrowded,” Mom added, not looking at anyone. Her gaze was fixed on the photo of the family fishing trip that hung …

The Contrast

hamed Jan. 14, 2025, 5:09 p.m.

It was 9:00 a.m. when Olivia’s Zoom screen flickered to life, revealing her well-lit office corner, complete with a potted plant in the background. She smiled, adjusting her headset as she settled into her ergonomic chair. The company’s quarterly meeting was about to begin, and she was ready—after all, this was the kind of work she had dreamed of when she graduated. Remote, flexible, well-compensated. She checked her emails while waiting for the others to join, juggling deadlines for multiple high-paying contracts, all from the comfort of her minimalist apartment in the city.

A ping interrupted her thoughts. It was a reminder about her call with the client in California, the one that had promised to double her rate if she could help them build a marketing campaign for a new AI product. Olivia grinned. Opportunities were endless in this new economy. She had a digital assistant to handle her …

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? …

The Catalyst

hamed Jan. 14, 2025, 4:16 p.m.

The lab was quiet, save for the low hum of the quantum battery prototype in its containment chamber. Dr. Lin Wei adjusted her glasses, her eyes fixed on the monitor. The numbers were perfect—energy output beyond anything humanity had ever achieved. A single charge could power a city for a month.

“We’re ready,” she whispered into her headset.

In Brussels, Dr. Elena Marceau watched the same data stream on her screen. Her jaw tightened. “They’re ahead of us,” she said to her assistant, her French accent sharp with frustration. “We need that catalyst formula.”

Across the globe, in a high-rise in Seattle, Dr. Adam Carter leaned back in his chair, a smug grin spreading across his face as he scrolled through intercepted emails from Lin Wei’s team. His tech was close but not close enough. Not until now.

Lin’s lab was impenetrable, or so she thought. …

Under the Veil

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 6:25 p.m.

The streets of Kabul felt suffocating, quieter than they’d ever been. It had only been a few weeks since the Taliban had taken control, but it felt like years. Zaynab pulled her chador tighter around her, the fabric heavy, the weight of it a constant reminder of the world she had woken up to—one she no longer recognized.

The city she had known as a bustling center of life, with its crowded markets and laughter-filled cafés, had grown still. The laughter, the freedom, the faces of her friends and colleagues—all of them now buried beneath a veil of fear.

Zaynab stood at the window of her apartment, watching the soldiers march past, their boots echoing in the silence. The checkpoints had returned. The voices of protest that once filled the streets had been replaced by whispers. Women were no longer walking freely to their jobs, to their schools. The signs …

In the Waiting Room

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 5:05 p.m.

Mira sat at her cluttered desk, eyes scanning the screen in front of her, the cursor blinking beside another email from a supplier—another delay. The shelves in her small bakery, Sweet Beginnings, sat half-empty, a stark contrast to the days when her display case would be brimming with freshly baked pastries, warm bread, and vibrant cakes. Now, there were only a few sad loaves and half-baked attempts at new recipes, each more experimental than the last.

“Flour, sugar, eggs... where are you?” she muttered under her breath, clicking on yet another message about an estimated shipment. No guarantees. No exact dates.

The global supply chain crisis had made even the most basic ingredients difficult to source. Mira had spent weeks calling, emailing, and begging her regular suppliers to send the most basic things she needed—flour, chocolate, butter—but each time, she was met with the same cold, impersonal reply: delayed, no …