Flash Stories

The Last Heir

hamed Jan. 10, 2025, 4:55 p.m.

Sarah Blackwood traced her fingers over the family portraits lining the mahogany-paneled hallway. First went little Tommy, found frozen in the greenhouse despite the summer heat. Then Mother, discovered at the bottom of the stairs with a broken neck – though Sarah couldn't remember those stairs ever creaking before. Father lasted longer, until the hunting accident that everyone called suspicious but couldn't prove otherwise.
At seventeen, she was the last Blackwood standing.
Mr. Peterson, their family lawyer since before her birth, had been a constant presence through each tragedy. He arranged the funerals, managed the estate, and became her legal guardian. His cold efficiency in handling their affairs had been a comfort, until she found the old photograph while cleaning out Mother's dresser.
It showed a younger Peterson at a garden party, his eyes fixed on her mother with an intensity that made Sarah's skin crawl. In every frame, he lurked in the …

The Curse of Love and Immortality - Chapter 5: Yasmin and the Prince of Winter

dehongi Jan. 16, 2025, 12:11 p.m.

The king’s voice carried a chill that matched the story he was about to tell. The flickering flames in the hearth seemed to dance slower as he began, their warmth struggling against the weight of the tale.
“Tonight,” he said, “we speak of Yasmin, the Pari who gave her heart to a prince cursed by winter—a man whose life was bound to frost and snow, who could never feel the warmth of spring.”
The princess tilted her head. “A curse? Was it magic?”
The king nodded. “It was. The prince, Darian, had once been beloved by the gods of the seasons, but his pride earned him their wrath. He dared to say he needed no one—not even the gods themselves. For his arrogance, he was cursed to live in perpetual winter. Snow followed him wherever he went, and ice bloomed under his touch. No fire could warm him, and no sun could thaw …

The Threads of Fate | Chapter 9: The Final Confrontation

dehongi Jan. 25, 2025, 4:33 p.m.

The old man’s mind, worn and frail with time, was drawn to another chapter of his life, one filled with unresolved conflict, where pride had overruled the simple but profound power of forgiveness. He had once loved deeply, but in a moment of hurt and anger, he had let pride become his guide. The rift between them was sudden, sharp, and deep. No words of healing were spoken, and the wound had festered in silence for years, growing only more bitter with time.

It was a memory he had carried for far too long—the moment where pride had eclipsed the love he once felt. He could remember the exact words, the harshness in his voice, and the bitterness that had clouded his judgment. The decision had felt justified then—he had been wronged, or so he thought. The need to prove himself right, to maintain control over his emotions, had overridden …

Reboot

hamed Jan. 14, 2025, 5:16 p.m.

Jamal’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, a moment of hesitation before he clicked “Submit” on the online course registration. He had spent hours staring at the screen, reading reviews of the “Introduction to Data Science” course. Was this really what he needed? Did he have time for this? He looked at the clock—5:30 p.m. His shift at the warehouse would start in a few hours, but it was his first day off in weeks.

He clicked it. Register. The words on the screen seemed to burn into him.

The job market was changing, everyone said so. And Jamal could feel it. A year ago, when the warehouse had invested in a new automated sorting system, it had seemed like a victory. Everything was faster, more efficient. The company had even promised bonuses for the workers who helped with the transition. But then came the layoffs. Slowly, like a creeping shadow, …

When the Waters Rose

hamed Jan. 22, 2025, 9:05 p.m.

The rain had been relentless for days, a constant drumming on the tin roofs of the villages nestled in Central Java’s lush valleys. By the time the rivers began to swell, it was too late to escape. The water came in the dead of night, a roaring force that swept through homes, fields, and lives with no mercy.

In the village of Sumber Rejo, 12-year-old Rani clung to her mother’s hand as they waded through the chest-deep water. The flashlight in her mother’s grip flickered, casting shaky beams on the chaos around them. Furniture floated past, along with remnants of lives uprooted—a child’s stuffed bear, a photograph album, a single sandal. The air was thick with the smell of mud and fear.

“Stay close, Rani!” her mother shouted over the sound of the rushing water. But Rani’s eyes were fixed on the dark shape of their neighbor’s house, half-submerged and …

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 Tariff Tango

hamed Jan. 22, 2025, 9:02 p.m.

At the International Trade Summit, held in a glitzy Vienna ballroom that smelled faintly of cigars and strained diplomacy, President Trumph strode to the podium. His signature red tie swung like a pendulum, warning of the chaos to come.

“I’m telling you,” Trumph began, pointing at the gathered delegates, “the EU’s been ripping us off for decades. Tariffs are coming, big ones. Huge ones. You won’t believe it!”

The French delegate, a silver-haired man named Jean-Claude, leaned over to whisper to his German counterpart. “Is he serious?”

“I think he is,” said Angela, sipping her mineral water with the calm of someone who’d seen worse. “Though I must admit, his economic theories are as unpredictable as his hair.”

Trumph jabbed his finger toward the Chinese delegation. “And you! Ten percent on imports if you don’t start playing fair!”

Ambassador Li smiled serenely. “Mr. President, we only play Go. You’re the …

Echoes of Earth

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

Commander Elena Martinez floated in the quiet solitude of the Mars capsule, her hands steady as she adjusted the controls, guiding their craft closer to the Red Planet. The stars outside the small porthole shimmered, distant and cold, like pinpricks of hope in an endless, empty canvas.

She was the first to leave Earth with a mission that felt bigger than any one person—humanity’s boldest leap into the unknown. They called it Ares Venture, a pioneering journey that would mark the beginning of colonizing Mars, of securing humanity’s future beyond their fragile home. Yet, despite all the technology, the sleek spacecraft, and the mission’s grand purpose, Elena couldn’t shake the feeling of being utterly, terribly alone.

The other astronauts were awake—some conducting experiments, others preparing for the arrival—but Elena felt the weight of the silence in her chest. It wasn’t the absence of sound that unsettled her. It was the …

Currency of Survival

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

Tariq tightened his grip on the bag of potatoes, his knuckles white against the coarse burlap. Around him, the market buzzed with desperation. Sellers shouted prices that changed by the hour, their voices tinged with panic. Buyers haggled with a fierceness born of necessity. Everyone’s eyes carried the same shadow: fear of tomorrow.

He glanced at the crumpled bills in his pocket, the brightly colored notes that used to mean something. This morning, he had exchanged a week’s worth of wages for them, only to find that by noon, they barely covered dinner. Hyperinflation was the word economists used. To Tariq, it was a slow unraveling of his life.

“Five kilos,” the vendor barked, eyeing Tariq’s hesitation. The woman behind him in line shifted impatiently, clutching a handful of wilted greens.

“Can you take less?” Tariq asked, his voice hoarse.

The vendor’s face hardened. “Less? Tomorrow …

Beyond the Stars

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 4:46 p.m.

Peter Lawson sat at his desk in the cluttered NASA lab, eyes bloodshot from hours spent scrutinizing calculations and blueprints. The hum of the machines around him was constant, a steady reminder of the giant leap they were all trying to make. Apollo was no longer just a dream—it was real, a mission that would send men to the moon and bring them home. But the weight of it pressed against him like the gravity they were trying to defy.

He ran a hand through his graying hair, staring at the latest telemetry readings on his screen. There were still so many things to solve—fuel mixtures, heat shields, trajectory corrections. It was never enough. The math was unforgiving.

“Pete,” called a voice from the doorway. It was his wife, Carol. She stood there, holding a cup of coffee, her eyes tired but warm.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, wiping his brow. …