Flash Stories

Forever Logged In

hamed Jan. 18, 2025, 4:25 p.m.

The first thing Ellie noticed was the silence.

In LuxeVR, the new virtual reality platform, silence wasn’t part of the design. Every scenario—tropical beaches, bustling cities, even alien landscapes—was filled with sound. Yet now, in the lush meadow she’d been exploring, the chirping birds and rustling grass had vanished.

“System glitch,” she muttered, tapping the glowing bracelet on her wrist. It was supposed to be her ticket back to reality. But the interface didn’t appear.

“Exit menu,” she commanded. Nothing.

Her chest tightened. This wasn’t supposed to happen. LuxeVR had been hailed as the safest, most immersive VR experience yet, complete with neural syncing. Ellie had been skeptical at first, but her friends raved about it. “It’s like living another life,” they’d said. “Just try it.”

Now, she regretted listening.

Ellie wandered through the meadow, her panic rising with every step. She tried everything: voice commands, gestures, even closing her …

The Curse of Love and Immortality - Chapter 1: The Tale of Aylin, the Star-Kissed

dehongi Jan. 16, 2025, 12:06 p.m.

The fire crackled softly in the great hall, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. The princess, seated on a velvet cushion beside her father, cradled a warm cup of tea in her hands. It was their nightly ritual—a quiet hour after dinner when the king would share a story, each one revealing another layer of the world’s mysteries.
“Tonight,” the king began, his voice as steady as the waves of the distant sea, “I shall tell you the tale of Aylin, the Star-Kissed.”
The princess tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “Star-Kissed?”
The king nodded, leaning back in his chair. “Aylin was a Pari of unmatched beauty. Her eyes shimmered like the first light of dawn, and her voice was as soothing as the lull of twilight. But what set her apart was her fascination with the stars. While other Paris reveled in the earthly pleasures of forests, rivers, and winds, Aylin …

The Road to Somewhere

hamed Jan. 16, 2025, 5:12 p.m.

The distant pop of gunfire echoed through the humid night. Lina clutched her son tighter, his small frame trembling against her chest. “Maman, I’m scared,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of their hurried footsteps.

“I know, bébé,” she said, her own fear buried beneath layers of practiced calm. “We just have to keep moving.”

Behind them, Port-au-Prince burned. The gang wars had turned their neighborhood into a battlefield, and the police—the few who hadn’t fled—were powerless. Two nights ago, they had watched their neighbor’s house go up in flames, the screams inside silenced too quickly. Lina knew their turn was next.

Now, they were on the road, along with hundreds of others, shadows moving through the darkened countryside. Her husband, Marcel, walked ahead, carrying a tattered bag with the last of their belongings: a change of clothes for each of them, a few cans of food, …

Behind the Headlines

hamed Jan. 12, 2025, 6:10 p.m.

The fire had been creeping for days, but it was the wind that pushed it over the edge. It swept through Malibu, westward toward the coast, and within hours, everything was in its path. The usual red alerts on her phone were now constant, a chorus of emergency messages flashing across the screen.

Jamie Lee Curtis looked at her phone, her hands gripping the edges of the screen as the latest evacuation order came through. She’d lived in Malibu for years, and though she’d faced fires before, this was different. This was real. This was not just another scare, but an unstoppable force.

She moved quickly through her house, grabbing the essentials—her purse, a few family photos, and the keys to her car. But in the back of her mind, a question gnawed at her: What do you take when you know you might lose everything?

Her husband, Christopher, was …

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 …

A Glimmer Of Hope

dehongi Jan. 16, 2024, 4:02 p.m.

He saw the wrinkles around his eyes, the gray hairs on his temples, the sagging skin on his cheeks. He saw the marks of regret on his face.

He was 40, and he had nothing to show for it.

He had always blamed others for his failures. His parents, his teachers, his friends. They had never given him what he needed, what he deserved.

But now, he knew the truth. He was the only one to blame. He had wasted his life chasing after things that didn't matter, and he had let his fears control him.

He had never taken any risks. He had never dared to dream big, or to put himself out there. And as a result, he had never achieved anything.

He had given up on himself.

But he also saw a glimmer of hope. He saw a chance to change his life.

He made a decision …

A Letter to G.H. Hardy

hamed Jan. 16, 2025, 6:06 p.m.

Srinivasa Ramanujan sat in the dim light of his small room in Kumbakonam, his hand trembling slightly as he dipped the quill into the ink. The weight of the paper before him felt impossibly heavy, though it was no thicker than any other sheet he had written on. He stared at the blank page for a long moment, the words caught between his heart and his mind, unsure how to bridge the gap between his passion and the world he was about to reach out to.

He was no stranger to the vastness of mathematics. To him, numbers weren’t just symbols on a page; they were living, breathing things, a language of the universe he had been listening to since childhood. But it had never been easy. His education had been fragmented, his talent unrecognized by those around him. For years, he had worked alone, writing out formulas and theorems …

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 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 …

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 …