Flash Stories

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 …

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 …

A Letter to G.H. Hardy

hamed Jan. 16, 2025, 6:06 p.m.

Srinivasa Ramanujan sat in the dim light of his small room in Kumbakonam, his hand trembling slightly as he dipped the quill into the ink. The weight of the paper before him felt impossibly heavy, though it was no thicker than any other sheet he had written on. He stared at the blank page for a long moment, the words caught between his heart and his mind, unsure how to bridge the gap between his passion and the world he was about to reach out to.

He was no stranger to the vastness of mathematics. To him, numbers weren’t just symbols on a page; they were living, breathing things, a language of the universe he had been listening to since childhood. But it had never been easy. His education had been fragmented, his talent unrecognized by those around him. For years, he had worked alone, writing out formulas and theorems …

Snowbound Strangers

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 4:45 p.m.

The howling wind outside the train station sounded like a beast clawing at the windows. Snow battered the walls, piling higher by the minute. Inside, a group of six strangers huddled near a potbelly stove, the only source of warmth in the dim, drafty room.

“I should’ve stayed in Boston,” muttered Mr. Archer, a stout banker in a wool coat that barely held back the chill. His spectacles fogged as he exhaled. “This is madness.”

“You think Boston’s better?” replied Miss Clara, a sharp-eyed schoolteacher with a tattered shawl draped over her shoulders. “My pupils haven’t eaten in days. I was heading to Albany to ask for relief. Boston’s no kinder than this storm.”

A young boy, no older than ten, tugged at Clara’s sleeve. “Miss, do you think the trains will run soon?” His voice was thin, shaky, his oversized coat swallowing him whole.

Clara knelt, brushing snow from …

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 …

Prohibition’s Dawn

hamed Jan. 16, 2025, 5:56 p.m.

It was the sound of the doorbell that made Benny pause. The bell chimed the same way it always did, a soft jingle that brought a sense of warmth to the dimly lit bar. But tonight, that chime felt like an omen—sharp and foreboding.

Benny wiped his hands on the rag, eyes flicking to the doorway as a man in a heavy coat stepped inside. The man’s face was masked with the cold, but his eyes—those eyes—held a glimmer of something Benny didn’t want to see. Trouble.

“You still open, Benny?” the man asked, his voice gruff, clipped.

“Always open,” Benny replied, his own voice sounding strained in the otherwise quiet room. The old mahogany bar gleamed under the flickering candlelight, as though it too were unsure of the changes to come.

It was January 1919, the start of something he could hardly comprehend, something that would unravel everything he …

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. …

The Line in the Sand

hamed Jan. 17, 2025, 1:54 p.m.

The rain soaked Mateo’s jacket as he held his wife Rosa’s hand, their two children huddled close between them. Outside the immigration office, a crowd of protesters shouted into the night, their signs bobbing like storm-tossed buoys: “Families Belong Together.” “No Human is Illegal.”

Behind the glass doors, Councilwoman Evelyn Grant stood watching. She didn’t belong here, not tonight, but something had pulled her from her townhouse and into the chaos. Perhaps it was the image of the Díaz family on her desk—the photo clipped to their immigration file, now stamped with the red letters FINAL ORDER.

Her aide had warned her. “Stay out of it. You’re running for re-election. You can’t take this fight.”

But here she was, drenched in guilt and indecision.

Evelyn recognized Mateo immediately, his weathered face exactly as it looked in the photo. He met her gaze through the glass, his eyes filled with something …

The Sound of Silence

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 4:58 p.m.

Olena crouched by the window, her eyes tracing the distant skyline where the city’s once-proud spires now stood jagged and broken against the pale, grey sky. The sounds of war were a constant presence now—booms in the distance, the faint crackle of gunfire, and the ever-present hum of sirens that had become as much a part of daily life as the hum of her own heartbeat.

She used to wake up to the sounds of birds outside, her children’s laughter, the chatter of neighbors exchanging morning greetings. But that was before.

Now, each day felt like a fragile thread stretched too thin, one tug away from snapping. The world had changed overnight, and the city she had loved so much was slowly crumbling, piece by piece.

Yet, amid the chaos, Olena still managed to find moments of peace. A bowl of warm soup shared with her mother, the brief comfort …