Flash Stories

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 …

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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 …

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The Song of the Sea

hamed Jan. 22, 2025, 8:37 p.m.

Tama stood at the edge of the beach, the cool morning breeze tugging at his hoodie. The waves crashed against the shore, their rhythm steady and ancient, like the heartbeat of the land itself. This was his place—the stretch of sand and sea where he’d learned to swim, where his grandfather had taught him to fish, and where he’d always felt most alive. But today, the horizon was marred by the silhouette of cranes and bulldozers, their growling engines drowning out the cries of the gulls.

The developers had arrived a week ago, their signs planted in the sand like flags claiming territory. "Luxury Oceanfront Resorts Coming Soon!" they proclaimed. Tama’s stomach churned every time he saw them. This beach wasn’t just a piece of land; it was a part of him, a part of his whakapapa—his lineage. His ancestors had walked these shores, and their stories were etched into …

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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 …

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