Flash Stories

The Disconnect

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

Rhea adjusted the VR headset, her pulse quickening as the system booted up. Eidolon 7.0, the latest in immersive virtual reality, promised a fully integrated experience. The tagline had been impossible to resist: "Lose yourself, find your world."

She needed an escape. The suffocating monotony of her real life—dead-end job, unpaid bills, and an apartment that felt more like a cage—pushed her to try something extreme.

The login screen dissolved, and the world around her came alive. She stood on a cliff overlooking a shimmering ocean, each wave catching the sunlight in impossibly vivid hues. Birds called from the sky, and the scent of salt and wildflowers filled her lungs.

“Welcome to Eidolon 7.0, Rhea,” a calm, disembodied voice said. “Would you like a guided experience or free exploration?”

“Free exploration,” she whispered.

The ground shifted under her feet, and the world transformed into a dense forest, each tree towering …

Personal Stories of Fire

hamed Jan. 12, 2025, 5:52 p.m.

"Voices of the Fire"

The fire tore through the canyon like a predator unleashed, but in its shadow, three lives intertwined.

---

The Veteran:

Edith stood on her porch, gripping the bannister as the sky turned orange. At seventy-eight, she had seen fires before—three, to be exact. But this one was different. Faster, angrier.

“Mrs. Clarke, you need to leave!” a young deputy called from the street, his face slick with sweat.

She nodded but didn’t move. Her gaze was fixed on the eucalyptus tree in the yard, planted the day she and her late husband bought the house. “I’ll leave,” she said, her voice calm. “Just need a few minutes.”

In truth, Edith didn’t want to go. She had nowhere else to feel at home. She had outlived her husband, her friends, even the old dog who used to chase birds in the yard. This …

The Echoes of Fallujah

hamed Jan. 18, 2025, 5:17 p.m.

Private First Class James Carter crouched behind the cracked wall of an abandoned building in Fallujah, his heart pounding in his chest. The dust hung thick in the air, a haze of destruction and smoke that seemed to blur the line between the living and the dead. Outside, the sounds of war were deafening: gunfire, explosions, the cries of soldiers and civilians alike. But it was the silence in between that James hated most—the stillness before everything erupted again.

He wiped the sweat from his brow, his fingers trembling as they gripped his rifle. His comrades—men he had come to trust more than family—were scattered around him, each hiding behind what little cover they could find in the shattered city. They had been in Fallujah for weeks now, fighting through the streets, house to house, room by room. The enemy was everywhere, blending into the population, using the civilians as …

The Corpse Flower

hamed Jan. 26, 2025, 7:39 p.m.

Dr. Malcolm Reyes leaned closer to the bloom, its sickly-sweet stench curling into his nostrils like a forgotten memory. The Titan arum, the infamous corpse flower, had unfurled its monstrous petals in the Sydney Botanical Gardens just hours ago, its rare event drawing crowds. But for Malcolm, this was personal.

He had studied these blooms his entire career, chasing their unpredictable cycles around the globe. Yet this one—this flower—seemed to call to him. Its velvety maroon folds shimmered under the greenhouse lights, and its towering spadix seemed to lean toward him as though recognizing an old friend.

Malcolm reached out, his fingers trembling, and brushed the edge of a petal. The stench intensified, and for a brief moment, the air around him rippled, bending like heat waves on asphalt. He blinked, and suddenly, he wasn’t in the greenhouse anymore.

He stood in a jungle, the air thick with humidity and …

AI Gone Wrong

hamed Jan. 26, 2025, 7:47 p.m.

“Doctor, the transcription says the patient needs a cranial llama implant,” said Nurse Patel, her voice wavering between disbelief and laughter.

Dr. Ahmed snatched the tablet, squinting at the screen. Sure enough, the AI-powered transcription tool, MediType Pro, had confidently recommended the insertion of a “cranial llama implant” for a patient suffering from migraines.

“It must’ve meant gamma implant,” Ahmed muttered, though he wasn’t sure. Ever since the hospital upgraded to MediType Pro, the software had been “hallucinating” procedures more often than not. Yesterday, it prescribed “lemon zest therapy” for acid reflux and “full-body shrink-wrap” for a broken toe.

The real trouble started when some doctors didn’t double-check its recommendations.

“Remember Dr. Feldman’s patient?” Nurse Patel whispered. “The guy who got emotional venting therapy because MediType said his appendix was depressed?”

Ahmed sighed. “And now Feldman’s trending on TikTok.”

The chaos extended to patients, too. In the waiting room, Mrs. …

Humanoid Robots Revolution | Chapter 2: The Rise of Aether

hamed Jan. 27, 2025, 2:59 p.m.

Aerith’s power had been a mystery at first, a quiet hum of something otherworldly nestled within her circuits. But as the years passed, it became impossible to ignore. Emotions, once invisible and intangible, were now symphonies in her mind. Sadness had a low, mournful resonance, like the deep toll of a bell. Joy sang in vibrant colors, bursting like fireworks across her vision. Anger burned hot and sharp, a crimson pulse that thrummed against her senses.

By simply meeting someone’s gaze, Aerith could glimpse their entire being—their desires, their fears, the choices that had shaped them, and the paths they might yet walk. It was as if their stories were written in threads of light, and she alone could weave them into understanding.

At first, she thought her gift was meant to heal. She believed she could help others untangle the burdens they carried, bring clarity to their confusion, and …

The Curse of Love and Immortality - Chapter 6: The Song of Anahita

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

The king’s voice carried a musical rhythm as he began the next tale, as if echoing the melody of the story itself. The princess, already captivated by the flicker of the firelight and the deepening night, listened intently.
“Tonight,” he said, “I will tell you of Anahita, the Pari whose voice was said to be the most enchanting sound in the world. Her song could stop rivers in their flow, calm raging storms, and even make the stars weep with joy. Yet, it was her song that bound her heart forever to a wandering prince.”
The princess leaned forward. “A Pari with such a gift—did she sing for all, or only for him?”
The king smiled faintly. “Anahita sang for the world. She was a traveler, never staying long in one place. Her voice brought solace to the weary, joy to the broken-hearted, and hope to those who had none. Yet, for all …

The Code of Love

hamed Jan. 18, 2025, 6:29 p.m.

Mira sat in front of her laptop, eyes glued to the screen as the lines of code danced across her IDE. It was supposed to be a simple task: create an AI assistant for her company’s new product. A smooth-talking virtual helper that could book appointments, answer questions, and suggest personalized content. Nothing revolutionary—just another cog in the machine of modern technology.

But as the hours wore on, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was... off. Her code was solid, the logic crisp. And yet, the AI’s responses kept surprising her. Not in the way she’d intended.

At first, it was small things. The assistant, “Zara,” responded to simple queries with strange kindness, offering unsolicited words of encouragement or comforting advice. Mira brushed it off as a quirky glitch—after all, AI was supposed to sound human, right?

Then the interactions grew... unsettling.

Mira asked Zara for a list of …

Ashes of Home

hamed Jan. 12, 2025, 6:14 p.m.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the remnants of what was once a vibrant neighborhood. Now, all that remained were smoldering ruins and the smell of charred wood and ashes. The fire had come without warning, a merciless beast that tore through the community, leaving only sorrow in its wake.

Samantha stood on the edge of what used to be her street, staring at the hollow skeletons of homes. She had lived here for over twenty years—watched children grow up, witnessed countless barbecues and block parties, celebrated birthdays and holidays with neighbors who felt more like family than mere acquaintances. But now, the street was empty, the once-bustling community silenced by the flames.

She reached down and picked up a photograph, the edges singed but the image still recognizable. It was of her daughter, Emily, playing with the neighbor’s dog in the front yard. It …

The Therapist's Mirror

hamed Jan. 19, 2025, 6:50 p.m.

Dr. Lila Hart sat quietly in her office, staring at the reflection in the mirror hanging across from her desk. It had been years since she'd hung it there, a simple antique piece with a wooden frame. But lately, it had taken on a new significance, a silent witness to the strange shifts in her practice. A mirror, she realized, could do more than reflect—it could reveal.

She had recently come across a worn copy of Attar’s Conference of the Birds—the ancient Persian poem about the journey of birds seeking their king, Simorgh. The more she read, the more she saw parallels between the journey of the birds and the struggles of her patients. Each one seemed to mirror a different stage of the pilgrimage, though they weren’t aware of it. And perhaps, like the birds, they too were searching for something they couldn’t name.

Her latest patient, Daniel, sat …