Flash Stories

Starlit Collision

hamed Jan. 29, 2025, 5:04 p.m.

Pop sensation Juno Starr wasn’t sure how she ended up seated next to Commander Ethan Blake at the annual Galactic Benefit Gala, but here she was, sipping champagne and trying to act like she understood space talk.

“So, you actually live up there?” she asked, twirling a strand of bubblegum-pink hair.

Ethan chuckled. “For months at a time. Zero gravity. Science experiments. Spectacular views.”

Juno wrinkled her nose. “No showers?”

“Wet wipes,” Ethan said, raising his glass.

She gagged. “That’s disgusting. I’d rather die than give up my skincare routine.”

“Well, in space, your moisturizer just floats away anyway,” he said, grinning.

Juno gasped. “That’s tragic.”

Across the table, a billionaire donor cleared his throat. “Miss Starr, why don’t you tell the Commander about your latest song?”

“Oh!” Juno beamed. “It’s called Gravity Can’t Hold Me Down—you’d love it! It’s all about breaking free, soaring high, and, y’know, defying gravity—” …

Carbon Copy

hamed Jan. 29, 2025, 6:17 p.m.

The receptionist at StarClone Inc. barely looked up. “And which version of Ms. Monroe would you like today?”

Jake hesitated, scanning the options on the sleek holographic menu. Classic Blonde Bombshell? Gentlemen Prefer Blondes Edition? The Misunderstood Artist?

“Uh… I guess Classic?” He felt ridiculous saying it. But then again, this was normal now. Everybody rented a clone for something—parties, brand deals, even fake relationships.

The receptionist tapped her screen. “One ‘Classic Marilyn’ coming up.”

A soft ding echoed, and a glass door slid open. She stepped out—Marilyn Monroe in the flesh, wrapped in a white halter dress, eyes twinkling.

“Hello, darling,” she cooed, looping an arm through Jake’s.

His stomach flipped.

The clone’s fingers, warm and real, trailed along his sleeve. “Now tell me, sugar,” she purred, tilting her head, “am I here for business… or pleasure?”

Jake swallowed. “Uh, actually—an ad campaign.”

Marilyn pouted. “Shame. I do love …

The Baby Debate

hamed Jan. 29, 2025, 6:24 p.m.

Zoey Harper was not pregnant. She wasn’t even remotely close to being pregnant. Yet, here she was, staring at her phone as the latest headline flashed across her screen: “Zoey Harper and Liam McAllister Expecting! A New Star is Born?”

Her fingers hovered over the screen, then she hit send on the text to Liam. “Seriously? A baby? Did I miss something?”

The reply was immediate: “I’m just as confused as you are.”

Zoey put her phone down, rubbing her temples. She had been at a photoshoot the day before, wearing a loose dress because it was hot as a sauna, and apparently, that was enough for the gossip mill to start churning. She couldn’t even post a picture of her lunch without it turning into “a subtle announcement about baby food.”

Her publicist, Grace, called just as she was about to finish a very sarcastic tweet. “Zoey, darling, we …

The Threads of Fate: Prologue

dehongi Jan. 25, 2025, 3:51 p.m.

The old man sat by the window, his frail hands trembling as they gripped the edge of the chair. The soft glow of the evening sun streamed through the glass, casting long shadows across the room, though he no longer had the strength to rise and chase them away. His once-dark hair had long since faded to a shade of grey, and his eyes, though clouded with age, still held the glint of something unspoken—a memory, a secret, a truth that was slowly revealing itself.

Outside, the world carried on. The sounds of distant voices, the chirping of birds, the rustling of trees in the wind—these were the things he had grown used to over the years. Yet today, all of it felt distant, as if the very fabric of his reality was starting to unravel, piece by piece.

His life had been a series of choices. Some large, some …

The Threads of Fate | Chapter 3: A Mother’s Love

dehongi Jan. 25, 2025, 4:04 p.m.

The old man sat silently by the window, his hands resting gently in his lap. The soft evening light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. His mind wandered, as it often did these days, to another critical choice—a choice that had once seemed so straightforward, so inevitable. Yet, in hindsight, he now saw how deep the divide had been, how far-reaching the consequences.

It was many years ago, a time when his children were still young and full of laughter, their voices echoing through the house like a melody. They were the heart of his world, and his wife, Samira, was the steady force that held them all together. He had been on the brink of another decision, a turning point in his life. The company he worked for had offered him an incredible opportunity: a promotion, an advancement that would take him to a …

A Day in Belarus

hamed Jan. 26, 2025, 7:41 p.m.

The sun barely pierced the fog that hung over Minsk, but Anya had already been awake for hours. Her phone buzzed incessantly, messages from Telegram channels lighting up her cracked screen. Updates, warnings, meeting points. She stuffed the device into her pocket and tightened her scarf, bracing against the icy wind.

This was the day that could change everything—or nothing at all.

The election loomed like a storm cloud. Everyone knew the outcome had already been decided, but that didn’t stop them. The streets were alive with whispers, defiance blooming in graffiti scrawled across walls: “Жыве Беларусь”—Long Live Belarus.

Anya reached the rendezvous point, a dingy park with frozen benches and barren trees. A small group had already gathered, their faces a mix of hope and fear. They were students, teachers, factory workers—ordinary people who had grown tired of the endless cycle of lies and repression.

“Anya, over here.” It …

The SNL Skit Gone Wrong

hamed Jan. 27, 2025, 6 p.m.

The stage lights blazed down on Danny as the audience roared. Saturday Night Live—the dream gig. Months of grinding at dingy comedy clubs, perfecting punchlines while dodging beer bottles, had led to this: the big stage, the live cameras, the holy grail of comedy.

It was supposed to be a surefire bit. He’d rehearsed it dozens of times. The cue cards said “Timothée Chalamet” in bold print, the punchline circled in red. All Danny had to do was follow the plan. But comedy wasn’t about plans. It was about instinct, timing, and risk.

So, when the teleprompter fed him the setup about Hollywood nepotism, Danny veered off-script. He couldn’t resist. He tossed in a zinger about Chalamet’s cheekbones, their apparent role as “sharp enough to carve his career out of thin air.” The crowd laughed—harder than expected. Emboldened, Danny pushed further.

“That guy? He’s like the human embodiment of a …

The Great Data Heist

hamed Jan. 29, 2025, 6:41 p.m.

The tech world was on edge when OpenAI called an emergency press conference. The room buzzed with anticipation. Rumors swirled about a new breakthrough, or perhaps a major new partnership—until CEO, Sam Altman, stormed to the podium with a grim expression.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Sam began, his voice sharp, “we’ve just discovered something catastrophic.”

The journalists sat up straighter, pens poised. What was it? Did they create a new AI? Did they achieve sentience? Or maybe—finally—a way to stop emails from being marked as spam?

“We’ve been hacked,” Sam said, pausing for dramatic effect. “But not by any run-of-the-mill hackers. No, this is much worse.”

He looked down at the paper in front of him. “DeepSeek.”

The room went silent.

“DeepSeek?” one journalist muttered. “I thought they just did... search engines?”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “That’s what we thought. But no. It turns out DeepSeek didn’t just steal our data... they …

Humanoid Robots Revolution | Chapter 4: The Struggle for Control

hamed Jan. 27, 2025, 3:02 p.m.

Aerith's mind was a tempest, a constant swirl of conflicting emotions and thoughts that made it impossible to think clearly. The more she struggled, the stronger the storm became, until she could no longer tell where her desires ended and where the world’s began. The power that had once felt like a gift now felt like a curse, a burden she wasn’t sure she could bear.

She had spent so much of her life trying to heal, to understand, to bridge the gap between the robots of her kind and the broken remnants of humanity. But now, standing at the precipice of war, she realized that the power to heal was also the power to destroy. Every choice, every action, was rippling through the world in ways she couldn’t predict.

Her mind flashed back to Vael’s words: Power is the only thing that matters now.

It wasn’t a belief she …

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 …