Flash Stories

The Last Shift

hamed Jan. 14, 2025, 4:46 p.m.

Lena wiped the sweat from her brow as she worked the assembly line. The familiar hum of machines filled the factory floor, a sound she had grown accustomed to over the years. She had been here for almost a decade, assembling parts for the latest consumer electronics. The work wasn’t glamorous, but it paid the bills. She had a steady routine—wake up early, put in her hours, and go home. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep her small family going.

Her coworker, Greg, was a different story. He had been with her from the beginning, both of them starting as apprentices when the factory was first built. But Greg wasn’t like Lena. He had always been more tech-savvy, always tinkering with things in his spare time. He had taken night classes in automation and robotics, working hard to learn the skills that kept him one step …

The Day History Changed

hamed Jan. 16, 2025, 6:08 p.m.

It was a bitter, cold January afternoon in Prague, the kind that sank into your bones and made the city feel even more oppressive than it already was. The streets, lined with grey, drab buildings, seemed to murmur with the weight of history. But for Tomáš, a student at Charles University, history wasn’t something that whispered—it was something that suffocated.

He had grown up with the stories, the whispers of a once-proud nation reduced to a puppet of the Soviet Union. Freedom, like so many things, had become a memory, a faint echo of a past that seemed unreachable. There were protests, of course—students marched, workers went on strike, but it was always the same. The tanks, the soldiers, the crushing weight of Soviet power. Change seemed impossible.

He walked past Wenceslas Square on his way to class, the busy hub of the city seemingly unaffected by the gloom that …

The First Step

hamed Jan. 16, 2025, 5:29 p.m.

It was quiet in the barracks, the hum of the ceiling fan barely cutting through the thick Gulf air. Amir sat on his bunk, fingers tracing the edge of his rifle. The weight of it in his hands felt unnatural, as if the metal and wood were meant for someone else. Someone more prepared, someone older. But here he was, just nineteen, still wearing the smell of his mother’s cooking in his uniform, still haunted by the taste of the salt in the Persian Gulf breeze as he had arrived. Now, all he could taste was the tension.

The year was 1991, and war was no longer a distant echo. It was real. It was waiting, just over the horizon. The Persian Gulf War. He had heard the name in passing, in the streets of Tehran, in the newsrooms of his hometown. But now it was his name being called, …

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 …

The Last Days of El Salvador's Civil War

hamed Jan. 16, 2025, 5:57 p.m.

The sun dipped below the hills, casting long shadows across the fields that stretched like a forgotten memory. José sat on the edge of the trench, the dirt under his fingers cooling as the evening breeze swept through. The faint smell of gunpowder still lingered in the air, though the battles had stopped for the day. In the distance, the silhouette of a soldier—a comrade, perhaps—was barely visible, a reminder that the war was far from over.

1992, the final year of El Salvador’s civil war. A war that had shaped him, broken him, and, in some ways, defined him. It had been more than a decade of fighting, of bloodshed, of choices that had no easy answers. He had once believed in the cause—the revolution, the idea of justice for the oppressed. But now, in the quiet moments before the ceasefire, doubt clung to him like the dust in …

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 …

The Curse of Love and Immortality - Chapter 7: Parvaneh, the Moonlit Bride

dehongi Jan. 16, 2025, 12:13 p.m.

The king began the next tale with a wistful smile, his gaze lingering on the flickering flames in the hearth.
"Tonight," he said, "I will tell you the story of Parvaneh, the Pari who became known as the Moonlit Bride. Her name, like her destiny, means 'butterfly,' and her beauty was said to shine brightest under the light of a full moon."
The princess leaned forward, her curiosity piqued. "A butterfly beneath the moon… what was her story?"
The king's voice softened as he began. "Parvaneh lived near a great kingdom that held a festival every year to honor the moon. People would gather in the royal gardens on the night of the full moon, wearing silver and white, their laughter and music carrying into the night. Parvaneh, drawn by the beauty of the celebration, would secretly watch from the shadows of the forest. She had always been careful to avoid being seen—until …

The Duchess in Room 12

hamed Jan. 16, 2025, 5:22 p.m.

The hospital buzzed with an energy that hadn’t been felt in years. Fresh flowers lined the front desk, the floors gleamed from an extra polish, and the faint smell of disinfectant mingled with the scent of anticipation.

Kate Middleton’s visit was all anyone could talk about. Staff whispered in the corridors, patients smoothed their hair in their beds, and even the normally stoic Dr. Rees had put on a tie.

In Room 12, Maria adjusted her oxygen tube nervously. The elderly woman had been battling a stubborn case of pneumonia, and while the nurses promised her she didn’t have to say anything, the thought of meeting a duchess made her palms sweat.

Outside, Kate moved through the ward with her signature grace, but up close, she was different. She crouched to speak to a little boy in a wheelchair, her face lit with genuine warmth as he showed her his …

The Magnetic South Pole

hamed Jan. 16, 2025, 5:59 p.m.

Dr. William Harper sat in the dimly lit cabin, his breath fogging in the cold air that seeped through the cracks in the wooden walls. He gazed out the small, frosted window at the vast, white nothingness beyond. The Antarctic night was long, a canvas of endless ice stretching out like a frozen sea. The world felt smaller here—compressed, as though the weight of the icy landscape could crush the very spirit from a man.

He was supposed to be a part of history. The first to reach the Magnetic South Pole. A dream he’d nurtured for years. But now, standing on the precipice of that dream, William felt the weight of reality pressing against him. Shackleton had already failed. Others before him had turned back, too—men of greater renown, more experience. Yet here he was, alone with a few fellow scientists, still determined to forge forward.

He pulled his …

The Curse of Love and Immortality - Chapter 4: The Melancholy of Elnaz

dehongi Jan. 16, 2025, 12:10 p.m.

The king sat in silence for a moment, gazing at the flickering candlelight as if seeing another time, another place. The princess waited, sensing the weight of the tale he was about to share.
“Tonight,” he began softly, “I will tell you of Elnaz, the Pari who fell in love with a poet. Her story is one of beauty and sorrow, of words that wove their way into her immortal heart.”
The princess’s brow furrowed. “A poet? Did he write of her?”
The king smiled faintly. “Not at first. Elnaz lived in a secluded valley, far from human eyes. Her days were spent wandering among fields of wildflowers, her heart untouched by the fleeting lives of mortals. But one day, she heard something that stopped her in her tracks—a voice, soft and rich, reciting verses that seemed to carry the weight of the stars. She followed the sound and found him.”
The princess leaned …