Flash Stories

The Last Truth

hamed Jan. 17, 2025, 2:09 p.m.

The newsroom was silent, a graveyard of empty desks and dormant monitors. Taylor sat alone under the flickering glow of a desk lamp, headphones on, replaying the anonymous audio file for the tenth time.

“Project Echo is real. The broadcasts are scripted. Follow the money. You’ll find the puppeteers.”

The voice was scrambled, untraceable, but the weight of its claim was suffocating. Taylor, a once-respected journalist now reduced to running an independent stream, had spent weeks chasing dead ends.

Tonight, the puzzle pieces finally fit.

A spreadsheet leaked by the same source revealed corporate ties between the top five networks and a shadowy conglomerate, Solaris Holdings. They controlled airtime, ad revenue, and—Taylor now realized—content itself. Every headline, every breaking story, carefully crafted to serve their agenda.

Taylor leaned back in their chair, staring at the screen. Exposing this would destroy the last shreds of trust in media. But what would …

The Last Dance

hamed Jan. 9, 2025, 5:50 p.m.

The dance studio mirrors multiplied my humiliation by infinity. There was my best friend Mia, teaching my fiancé Tom the wedding dance I'd asked her to choreograph for us. Their bodies moved in perfect sync – too perfect for a first lesson.
I watched from the doorway as he dipped her, their faces inches apart, both laughing. The same laugh they'd shared at dinner parties, at game nights, at every moment I'd dismissed as friendly.
My phone still held the video I'd planned to share on social media: "First dance lessons with my amazing bestie and future husband! #WeddingPrep"
Instead, I pressed record on their private performance and typed: "Last dance lessons with my ex-bestie and ex-fiancé. #PlotTwist"
The sound of my phone's shutter echo made them freeze mid-turn. Their faces paled as I hit 'post.'
"Consider this my RSVP," I said, turning away. "I won't be attending."
Behind me, the mirrors captured their desperate scramble …

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 …

The Weight of Mercy

hamed Jan. 22, 2025, 8:51 p.m.

The news broke on a quiet Tuesday morning. President Trump, in his final hours in office, had issued a sweeping pardon—over 1,500 names, a list that included fraudsters, lobbyists, and, most controversially, hundreds of January 6 Capitol rioters. The country erupted in a cacophony of outrage and relief, depending on which side of the divide you stood.

In a small town in Ohio, Mark Harris sat on his couch, staring at the TV. His face was pale, his hands trembling as the news anchor read the list of names. When he heard his own, he felt a surge of emotions—relief, guilt, and a gnawing unease. He had been one of the rioters, caught up in the frenzy of that day, swept along by the crowd and the promises of something greater. He had spent months in legal limbo, his life on hold, his family fractured. Now, he was free. But …

The Raven's Dilemma

hamed Jan. 20, 2025, 7:19 p.m.

Huginn perched on the edge of a skyscraper, the city buzzing below him like a hive of restless mortals. It had started as a typical journey—scouting Midgard, gathering wisdom for Odin. But this time, his sharp eyes had caught something peculiar: humans staring at glowing rectangles, their faces alight with strange expressions.

Curiosity led him to a coffee shop, where he perched by a window and watched. The humans scrolled endlessly, pausing to tap glowing hearts and laugh at tiny videos of cats falling off furniture. He tilted his head, intrigued. Knowledge was being exchanged here, but in a way unlike any he had seen before.

Huginn wasn’t one to shy away from new methods of gathering wisdom. He tapped into the humans' network, adopting a sleek black phone left unattended on a table. Within hours, his account, @RavenOfOdin, began to gain followers.

At first, Huginn shared what he always …

Humanoid Robots Revolution | Chapter 1: The World Reborn

hamed Jan. 27, 2025, 11:33 a.m.

The world had long abandoned its organic essence, trading blood and bone for circuits and metal. What was once called Earth had transformed into a shimmering expanse of technological beauty. Towering forests of twisted steel stretched skyward, their branches humming with electricity. Rivers flowed not with water, but with liquid glass that shimmered in blues and silvers, reflecting the endless patterns of circuitry etched into the ground. The stars above were no longer visible, replaced by a lattice of glowing orbs—artificial constellations programmed to mimic the heavens humanity had once cherished.

The humanoid robots who roamed this world were not creations of choice. They were the byproduct of humanity’s desperate struggle to survive. A calamity centuries ago had rendered their fragile bodies useless against the planet’s harsh conditions. In a bid to endure, humans had transferred their consciousness into robotic shells, preserving their minds but losing the warmth of their …

The Last Filing Cabinet

hamed Jan. 14, 2025, 5:06 p.m.

Rose watched the maintenance crew wheel away the last filing cabinet, its metal drawers rattling like loose teeth. For thirty-two years, she'd known exactly which drawer held which files – third down, left side for active accounts; top right for special cases. Now everything lived in the cloud, a concept that still felt as intangible as morning fog.

"You'll love the new system," Trevor from IT had promised during training, his fingers dancing across the keyboard. "It's like having a thousand filing cabinets in your pocket." He'd smiled the way her grandson did when explaining TikTok – that particular blend of patience and mild amusement reserved for the digitally challenged.

The office looked strange now – all glass and screens, stripped of the paper trails that had once marked the passage of time. Her desk, once fortress-like with its walls of folders, felt exposed. The dual monitors reflected her face, …

Behind the Screens

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 4:54 p.m.

Jenna stared at the screen, the cursor blinking like a reminder of everything she hadn’t done. It was 10 a.m., but it felt like a strange time, suspended somewhere between the days. The house was too quiet. She could hear the distant hum of the fridge, the soft click of her fingers on the keyboard. Outside, the world moved on—people still walked their dogs, kids played in the park—but inside, everything felt still.

It had been six months since the pandemic turned her office job into a remote one. At first, she had been excited. No more commutes. No more crowded trains or early mornings. She could wear sweatpants, sip coffee in peace, and get her work done from the comfort of her living room.

But now, everything was different. The novelty had worn off. Her days had become a blur of Zoom calls and emails, each one blending into …

Seams of Power

hamed Jan. 12, 2025, 5:31 p.m.

Isabella Martinez slammed her sketchbook shut as her assistant rushed in with the news. "Did you hear? The First Lady-elect chose Dominique for the inauguration gown."

Three months of sketches, sleepless nights, and carefully orchestrated "chance" meetings at charity events—all wasted. Isabella glanced at the red silk draped on her mannequin, a dress that would now never see the lights of the National Mall.

Her phone buzzed: a message from Sophie Chen at Vogue. "Need comment re: Dominique announcement. Deadline 1 hour."

Isabella's fingers hovered over the keyboard. She had dirt on Dominique—everyone did. The "ethically sourced" fabrics that actually came from sweatshops, the designs suspiciously similar to young indie creators. One phone call to the right blogger...

But then she remembered last year's Designers Guild dinner. Dominique had pulled her aside after Isabella's divorce hit Page Six. "The vultures are circling," she'd warned. "Watch your back." That night, three …

Love Amidst Chaos

hamed Jan. 18, 2025, 4:50 p.m.

The air was thick with tension as the debate raged on. Julian sat at the podium, eyes sharp, voice unwavering as he tore into his opponent’s policies. He was the youngest senator in the country’s history, ambitious, idealistic, and—until tonight—certain that his ideals were the only ones worth fighting for.

Across from him, Elena clenched her jaw, her fingers curling around the microphone. She was no less fierce, a rising star in her own right, a staunch conservative who had spent years building her platform on a foundation of discipline and tradition. They had been on opposing sides for as long as either could remember.

Tonight’s debate was the pinnacle of their rivalry. The country’s future hung in the balance, and they were each determined to emerge victorious. The public had been eagerly awaiting this moment, with polls and news outlets predicting an intense showdown.

Julian’s eyes flicked to Elena’s, …