Flash Stories

Five Minutes

hamed Jan. 14, 2025, 4:54 p.m.

Marcus stared at his phone, watching the seconds tick by. 4:57 AM. His thumb hovered over the delivery app, waiting for the morning shift to open. He'd learned the hard way that five minutes could mean the difference between making rent and falling short.

4:58 AM. His daughter Elena shifted in her sleep on the couch beside him, wrapped in his old jacket. The heating had been out for three days. His landlord's voicemail was full.

4:59 AM. Last week, he'd missed the morning slots because his phone died – the electricity had been cut off, and he'd forgotten to charge it at the library. By the time he got online, only the dead afternoon hours were left, when orders slowed to a trickle.

5:00 AM. His thumb jabbed at the screen. Error. He jabbed again. Error. On the third try, the slots appeared. Already, the prime breakfast rush hours …

The Algorithm’s Darling

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 4:27 p.m.

When Mia’s follower count stalled at 10,000, she knew she needed something big. The curated lifestyle shots, the pastel morning lattes, and the “just woke up” selfies weren’t cutting it anymore. She wanted to break through, to trend, to matter.

One night, in a haze of frustration and half-drunk cold brew, Mia filmed herself cutting up her designer wardrobe—dresses, bags, even her prized Valentino heels. “I’m done with the fakeness,” she said into the camera. “This is the real me. Take it or leave it.”

She posted it with the caption: #DestroyToRebuild.

By morning, the video had 2 million views.

Her follower count exploded. Brands reached out with sponsorship deals, despite—or perhaps because of—the destruction. Mia became “the influencer who wasn’t afraid to burn it all down.” Her followers begged for more. What would she destroy next?

And so, she leaned in. She shredded paintings, smashed a $1,000 coffee maker, …

The Boardroom Mirror

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

“Next on the agenda,” Marcus said, tapping his pen against the glossy table. “The DEI program.”

The room fell silent, save for the hum of the air conditioning. Amelia watched as her colleagues exchanged loaded glances, their expressions a blend of impatience and resistance. She could already hear the undercurrent of what they wouldn’t say out loud: Here we go again.

She cleared her throat. “As you all know, the Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion initiative is designed to address long-standing disparities within our workforce and—”

“Cost us millions,” interrupted Charles, the CFO, his voice dripping with irritation. “Look, Amelia, no one’s saying diversity isn’t important, but these mandatory trainings and hiring quotas are alienating our top performers.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room. Amelia’s hand tightened around her coffee cup.

“This isn’t about quotas,” she said, her voice steady but firm. “It’s about creating a workplace where everyone—regardless …

A Flower in Space

hamed Jan. 16, 2025, 6:05 p.m.

The hum of the spacecraft’s systems was the only sound as Commander Emma Harris and her crew drifted silently in the vast expanse of space. They were millions of miles from Earth, orbiting in the silence of the cosmos. The distant stars and the swirling blue of Earth below seemed to mock the stillness of their confined world.

Emma sat by the small hydroponic garden, her gloved fingers gently adjusting the life-supporting system that nurtured the tiny flower growing in its container. It was the first successful plant to bloom on the station, the culmination of months of experiments and failures. The flower, a simple zinnia, was the first testament to life flourishing in the vacuum of space.

“Can you believe it?” Lieutenant Marcos Alvarez’s voice broke through the quiet, his voice soft yet full of wonder. He floated nearby, his gaze fixed on the delicate petals that had slowly …

The Curse of Love and Immortality - Chapter 2: Lila of the Forgotten Grove

dehongi Jan. 16, 2025, 12:08 p.m.

The fire burned low in the great hall, its golden glow casting soft light over the princess and her father. Tonight, the king seemed more somber than usual, as though the story he carried weighed heavier on his heart.
“Do you know of the Forgotten Grove, my child?” he asked, his voice calm but tinged with sadness.
The princess shook her head, setting her tea aside. “No, Father. What is it?”
“It is a place that no longer exists,” he said, his eyes fixed on the fire. “But long ago, it was a sanctuary, a haven hidden deep within the heart of an enchanted forest. Only the lost could find their way there, and only those with sorrow in their hearts could truly see it.”
The princess’s curiosity was piqued. “And what happened there?”
The king leaned forward, clasping his hands together. “That is where Lila lived. She was a Pari of the forest, her …

The House That Breathed

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 4:25 p.m.

The walls of the house whispered at night. Not loudly, just a faint rustle, like leaves brushing against each other. For the Patel family, it was another adjustment in the long list of changes since moving to Eden Grove, the world’s first entirely sustainable community.

“This house is alive,” Priya said one morning as she stood in the kitchen, watching the sunlight filter through translucent panels made from recycled algae bioplastics.

“It’s not alive,” her husband Ravi muttered, tinkering with the waterless composting sink. “It’s just... interactive.”

Their ten-year-old daughter, Anya, skipped into the room, her bare feet making no sound on the bamboo-graphene flooring. “It is alive! The walls breathe, remember? It’s how they clean the air.”

Priya nodded absently. The house’s organic insulation did filter carbon dioxide, and the solar tiles hummed faintly as they harvested energy. But it was more than that. She could feel the house, …

Wired Mind

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 4:20 p.m.

The procedure took six hours. When Ethan woke, his skull ached like a struck gong. The doctor smiled, holding a sleek tablet. “How do you feel?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he thought: Dim the lights. The room obeyed, bathing itself in a soft, amber glow.

“Your neural interface is working perfectly,” the doctor said, tapping on the tablet. “You’re the first human capable of directly interacting with technology through thought alone.”

Ethan didn’t respond. His mind was already buzzing, testing. He muted the hum of the air conditioner, locked and unlocked the door, and pinged a coffee machine down the hall to brew a fresh cup. The raw power was intoxicating.

Over the following weeks, his fame grew. Corporate executives vied for partnerships, and governments whispered offers behind closed doors. With a glance, Ethan could control drones, bypass firewalls, and even silence someone’s pacemaker.

But what truly unnerved him was …

Two Tables

hamed Jan. 14, 2025, 4:52 p.m.

Sarah gripped her coffee mug, its warmth failing to steady her trembling hands. Across the chrome-and-glass conference table, three executives in tailored suits studied her resume with practiced indifference.

"Your requested salary seems... ambitious," the HR director said, tapping her manicured nail against the paper.

Two floors down and twelve hours earlier, Sarah had cleaned these same conference rooms, emptying waste bins and wiping fingerprints from glass surfaces. The cleaning company had slashed their hours again, spreading the same work across fewer people. When she'd mentioned the union contract their parents' generation had won—back when half the cleaning staff were members—her supervisor had laughed.

"There are twenty people who'd take your spot tomorrow," he'd said. "That's just how it is now."

In the top-floor conference room across town, Sarah's brother Michael leaned back in his ergonomic chair, letting the tension build. He knew three other tech firms were hunting for …

Frozen Days

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 6:23 p.m.

The house felt like a tomb, cold and silent except for the creaks of the old wooden floors beneath their feet. Jasmine hugged her daughter, Ellie, close to her chest, both of them wrapped in blankets, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows across the walls.

Outside, the wind howled, a relentless force that seemed to freeze everything it touched. The power had been out for hours, maybe days—Jasmine had lost track of time. The temperature inside their house had plummeted, the chill creeping into their bones despite the layers of clothing they wore.

"Mom, when is the power coming back on?" Ellie asked, her voice small, fragile, as she looked up at her mother with wide, trusting eyes.

Jasmine tried to offer a reassuring smile, though it felt like a mask. "Soon, sweetie. They’re working on it. I’m sure it’ll be back before long."

But she wasn’t sure. Not anymore. …

The Price of Peace

hamed Jan. 17, 2025, 2:48 p.m.

The train rumbled to a stop, its whistle piercing the stillness of the autumn air. Samuel Jenkins stepped off, the familiar creak of the platform beneath his boots sounding foreign now. He stood for a moment, scanning the town—his town.

It looked unchanged. The same cobbled streets, the same towering oak in the town square. But beneath the surface, everything was different. There was no flag in the town square this morning, no welcoming committee. Just the quiet hum of a place that had moved on without him.

He had come home to peace. A peace bought by the ink of treaties and the promises of politicians. The Treaty of Versailles had signed away the last hope of any real victory, leaving nothing but a hollow sense of finality. The war was over, but the scars it left behind would last a lifetime.

Samuel adjusted the weight of his pack, …