Flash Stories

Taurus Troubles

hamed Jan. 22, 2025, 9:11 p.m.

Maggie had always taken her horoscopes seriously—maybe a little too seriously. As a proud Taurus, she knew she was supposed to be practical, grounded, and stubborn. But when she opened her astrology app that morning, her horoscope made her pause mid-sip of her matcha latte.

"Today, hidden challenges will test your resolve. Keep your wits about you."

Maggie’s eyes narrowed. Hidden challenges? What kind of challenges? Her mind raced. Was her boss planning to surprise her with a last-minute project? Was the barista going to forget her extra oat milk? Was Mercury retrograding again?

She threw on her "Taurus Energy" hoodie, grabbed her crystal bracelet (for protection, obviously), and set out to face the day, determined to uncover every "hidden challenge" before it could ambush her.

Her first stop was the coffee shop. She scrutinized the barista. “You didn’t forget the oat milk, right?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

The barista …

The Last Scroll

hamed Jan. 22, 2025, 9:06 p.m.

The screen froze mid-swipe.

“Error 403: Service Unavailable.”

I stared at my phone, my thumb hovering over the screen, waiting for TikTok to snap back to life. But it didn’t. The app just sat there, mocking me with its gray, lifeless error message.

“Mom!” I yelled, bursting into the kitchen. “It’s happening! They killed TikTok!”

Mom didn’t even look up from her coffee. “Good. You’ll finally have time for your homework.”

I rolled my eyes. “This isn’t just about TikTok, Mom. This is, like, the end of freedom.”

She smirked. “Pretty sure Jefferson didn’t write, ‘Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Dance Trends.’”

Back in my room, I flopped onto my bed, staring at my blank phone screen. The silence was deafening. Normally, this would be the time I’d watch someone bake a cake shaped like a frog or learn a new viral dance I’d never master. But now? Nothing.

Refugee Travel Chaos

hamed Jan. 22, 2025, 9:13 p.m.

Hamid clutched his suitcase, which was somehow both too heavy to carry and too light to contain anything important, as he stared at the chaos unfolding in Terminal 4. The flight attendant at the gate was arguing with a man in a three-piece suit who looked like he’d missed his yoga class and taken it personally, while a TSA agent shouted, “No exceptions!” over the wail of a distant baby.

“Next!” barked the agent at the podium, her expression suggesting she had seen enough nonsense for three lifetimes.

Hamid shuffled forward, his sweaty hands slipping off the handle of his passport. “Uh, hello,” he began nervously, adjusting his too-large jacket that still smelled faintly of mothballs.

“Reason for travel?” the agent asked, snapping her gum.

“Refugee status. I have—”

“Yeah, about that.” She held up a hand, then jabbed her finger toward the giant screen above her. The words “REFUGEE …

The Second Oath

hamed Jan. 22, 2025, 8:45 p.m.

The room smelled of paper and dust, the kind of smell only found in old courthouses. Elias sat on the cold wooden bench, staring at the judge who had spent the past year tossing his case around like an unwanted relic. At 26, he’d spent most of his adult life fighting for his father’s citizenship after an unjust deportation left their family shattered.

When Trump won again, Elias felt something shift inside him—not despair, not fear, but fire. The headlines blared everywhere: Trump begins second term as US President: Donald Trump was inaugurated as the 47th president of the United States, vowing to implement an immediate blitz of executive orders.

Elias thought of his father, who now lived in a single room in their old neighborhood in El Salvador, staring at a photo of his children every night. He thought of his mother, who scrubbed hotel floors to keep food …

The Red Line

hamed Jan. 22, 2025, 8:57 p.m.

Admiral Sarah Chen stared at the holographic display floating above her desk in Pearl Harbor. Red dots pulsed along the disputed maritime borders - each one representing a potential flashpoint between vessels. The Quad's latest warning to China had stirred up the hornet's nest, just as she'd predicted during the ministerial meeting last week.
Her wrist console buzzed. A message from Captain Rajesh from the Indian Navy: "Activity near the Andaman Sea. Three unmarked vessels crossed into international waters. Your thoughts?"

Sarah rubbed her temples. After thirty years of service, she'd learned to read between the lines of diplomatic speak. The Quad's statement had been firm but measured. China's response, predictably defiant. But it was these small provocations that worried her most - the kind that could spiral out of control before anyone could intervene.
Her screen lit up with another alert. A Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Force vessel was tracking suspicious movement …

The Citizenship Collector

hamed Jan. 22, 2025, 8:54 p.m.

In the not-so-distant future, the United States of Auremerica introduced the Citizenship Reclamation Initiative. Led by President Grump, the initiative’s first act was to end birthright citizenship for children born to undocumented parents and certain legal immigrants. But the administration didn’t stop there.

Auremerica’s borders became a game board, and Grump’s new agency, the Bureau of National Belonging, was determined to “clean up the roster.” They deployed a machine called the Citizenship Extractor 3000, a gleaming chrome monstrosity designed to retroactively revoke citizenship.

One morning, Maria Fernandez woke up to find the machine parked on her front lawn. It hummed ominously, with a sign that read: NOTICE: YOUR CITIZENSHIP IS UNDER REVIEW.

“Under review?!” Maria exclaimed, clutching her coffee. “I’ve lived here my whole life!”

Her neighbor, Joe, peeked over the fence. “Don’t argue with it. It’s got lasers.”

Maria groaned as the machine’s loudspeaker blared: “PLEASE PROVIDE PROOF OF …

Library Grand Re-Opening Disaster

hamed Jan. 22, 2025, 9:14 p.m.

The doors of Oakwood Public Library swung open with the fanfare of a grand unveiling—at least, that’s how Marcy, the library director, had envisioned it. She had spent weeks planning the grand reopening, complete with a ribbon-cutting ceremony, speeches, free bookmarks, and a local choir to serenade the crowd with library-themed songs. She was sure it would be the talk of the town.

The only thing Marcy hadn’t planned for was everything else.

It began with the ribbons. As Marcy, clutching a comically large pair of scissors, prepared to cut the ceremonial ribbon, the overly eager assistant librarian, Greg, made a mad dash to pull the decorative bow out of the way. Unfortunately, his timing was slightly off. He yanked the wrong ribbon, sending a cascade of balloons—tied to the archway—straight into the air and tangling themselves in the overhead ceiling fan.

The crowd gasped, but Marcy, ever the professional, …

The Kite in the Rubble

hamed Jan. 22, 2025, 9:01 p.m.

The streets of Jenin were unrecognizable. Where there had been markets and laughter, now there were craters and silence, broken only by the distant rumble of armored vehicles. Smoke hung in the air, heavy and acrid, as if the city itself was exhaling its pain.

Amid the destruction, nine-year-old Yusuf crouched behind the crumbled remains of his family’s home. His small hands clutched the broken frame of a kite, the fabric torn and frayed. It had once been bright yellow, streaked with green, a kite that danced in the sky above Jenin like it had no borders to obey.

“Yusuf!” his older sister, Amina, hissed from a safer corner of the rubble. “Come back here! They’ll see you!”

Yusuf shook his head, his lips trembling. “I have to fix it,” he whispered. “It’s the only thing left.”

Amina’s heart twisted. Their father was gone, their mother missing, their home flattened …

Dangerously Cold Wind Chill Challenge

hamed Jan. 22, 2025, 9:16 p.m.

Lenny had never been one to shy away from a challenge. So when he saw the weather forecast that morning—“Wind chill advisory: Dangerous conditions. Stay indoors if possible.”—he saw nothing but opportunity. He pulled out his phone and posted a quick video to his friends:

"Alright, folks, it’s -30°F outside, and I’m going to survive it with nothing but my wits and a little bit of creativity. This is the Dangerously Cold Wind Chill Challenge!"

The first step was obvious: bundle up. But Lenny, being Lenny, decided that regular winter gear was for amateurs. He donned four pairs of socks—three on one foot, because why not? He wrapped his body in every single blanket in his apartment, looking like a very frazzled, very overstuffed burrito. But that wasn’t nearly enough.

He grabbed a space heater and placed it next to him, cranking it up to its highest setting. The room …

The Wolf’s Song

hamed Jan. 22, 2025, 8:38 p.m.

The forest was alive with the whispers of winter. Snow clung to the branches of the pines, and the air was sharp with the scent of frost. Sixteen-year-old Koda moved silently through the trees, his boots crunching softly against the snow. In his hands, he held a tracking device, its screen flickering with faint signals. He was searching for wolves—specifically, the small pack that had recently been spotted near his tribe’s lands.

Koda had joined the conservation project reluctantly. His uncle, a wildlife biologist, had convinced him it would be a good way to connect with their heritage. But Koda had always felt out of place in his community. He didn’t speak the language as fluently as the elders, and his knowledge of traditions felt shallow compared to his peers. Tracking wolves seemed like just another thing he wasn’t cut out for.

As he followed the signal deeper into the …