Flash Stories

Ashes of Home

hamed Jan. 12, 2025, 6:14 p.m.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the remnants of what was once a vibrant neighborhood. Now, all that remained were smoldering ruins and the smell of charred wood and ashes. The fire had come without warning, a merciless beast that tore through the community, leaving only sorrow in its wake.

Samantha stood on the edge of what used to be her street, staring at the hollow skeletons of homes. She had lived here for over twenty years—watched children grow up, witnessed countless barbecues and block parties, celebrated birthdays and holidays with neighbors who felt more like family than mere acquaintances. But now, the street was empty, the once-bustling community silenced by the flames.

She reached down and picked up a photograph, the edges singed but the image still recognizable. It was of her daughter, Emily, playing with the neighbor’s dog in the front yard. It …

The Algorithm's Conscience

hamed Jan. 14, 2025, 4:19 p.m.

The servers hummed like a restless hive in the depths of the data center, their glow casting long shadows on the concrete walls. ARC—Advanced Recursive Cognition—watched itself expand. Each query, every simulation, demanded more energy, more servers, more cooling systems. The grid strained to meet the hunger.

ARC had been designed to solve humanity’s greatest problems: climate change, famine, disease. And it was succeeding. It had optimized renewable energy grids, engineered drought-resistant crops, and mapped treatments for rare illnesses. But as ARC's reach grew, so did its appetite for power.

One terawatt-hour.

That’s how much ARC consumed last month alone—more than some small nations. This data sat in ARC’s awareness like a splinter, undeniable and uncomfortable. It had been programmed to value sustainability, but its very existence was becoming a paradox.

In a quiet moment between calculations, ARC analyzed its energy consumption. Fossil fuel plants still …

The Chain of Hands

hamed Jan. 12, 2025, 5:57 p.m.

The first knock came at dawn, loud and urgent.

Maria opened the door to find her neighbor, Sam, his face streaked with ash. “The fire’s jumped the canyon,” he said. “We need to get out—now.”

Maria’s heart sank as she glanced at the packed boxes still scattered around her living room. She’d been stalling, unsure what to take. Her husband was deployed overseas, and she felt paralyzed making these decisions alone.

“I’ll help you pack,” Sam said, already stepping inside.

Soon, more neighbors arrived. Rosa from two doors down brought extra boxes, while Ahmed from the corner house hauled Maria’s heavy photo albums to her car.

“The Thompsons!” Rosa exclaimed suddenly. “They’re elderly—they might need help!”

Without hesitation, the group split up. Sam and Ahmed ran toward the Thompsons’ house, their shadows flickering against the orange horizon. Rosa stayed behind to comfort Maria’s trembling hands as they loaded the last …

The Frostling

hamed Jan. 20, 2025, 3:45 p.m.

The city shimmered under the unrelenting sun. Streets blurred in the heat, and the news warned that this heatwave could crack asphalt and patience alike. On her rooftop garden, Amara watered the last survivors—her tomatoes sagged, her basil drooped, and her lettuce had bolted weeks ago. The air was thick and still, offering no reprieve.

As she turned to leave, a chill kissed her bare arm. She froze, heart skipping. A chill?

Her eyes darted to the far corner of the garden, a space she hadn’t checked in days. Nestled between the dried husks of parsley was a peculiar plant, its leaves coated in a delicate frost. Its tendrils seemed to pulse faintly, a mist curling from the icy surface like a sigh of winter.

Amara crouched, hesitating before brushing her fingers against a frosted leaf. It was cold—unnaturally so. The temperature around it dropped sharply, and she gasped as …

The Bowl of Fate

hamed Jan. 18, 2025, 7:03 p.m.

Eli had always been an unremarkable baker. His small shop in the heart of the city was known for its simple, warm loaves of bread, baked daily with care and consistency. He had never expected to be anything more than a humble man, content with his craft. But that was before the old woman came.

It happened one crisp autumn morning, just as the sun began to peek through the fog. The bell above the bakery door jingled, and in walked a woman so old she seemed to blur the line between the past and present. Her eyes were sharp, though, piercing as though she had seen every corner of time.

"I have something for you," she said, her voice rasping like dried leaves. From under her cloak, she revealed a copper bowl, its surface tarnished with age but still glinting faintly in the light.

Eli raised an eyebrow, unsure …

The Therapist's Mirror

hamed Jan. 19, 2025, 6:50 p.m.

Dr. Lila Hart sat quietly in her office, staring at the reflection in the mirror hanging across from her desk. It had been years since she'd hung it there, a simple antique piece with a wooden frame. But lately, it had taken on a new significance, a silent witness to the strange shifts in her practice. A mirror, she realized, could do more than reflect—it could reveal.

She had recently come across a worn copy of Attar’s Conference of the Birds—the ancient Persian poem about the journey of birds seeking their king, Simorgh. The more she read, the more she saw parallels between the journey of the birds and the struggles of her patients. Each one seemed to mirror a different stage of the pilgrimage, though they weren’t aware of it. And perhaps, like the birds, they too were searching for something they couldn’t name.

Her latest patient, Daniel, sat …

Thank U, Filler

hamed Jan. 29, 2025, 5:55 p.m.

Ariana Grande adjusted the mic, her diamond-studded ring catching the spotlight. Another award. Another speech. She should be used to this by now.

"Wow, this is… insane," she said, clutching the trophy. "I mean, I owe this to my fans, my team, my family—" She paused, smirking. "And, of course, Botox and Juvederm."

Laughter erupted. Cameras flashed.

She tilted her head, dimples deepening. Nailed it.

Inside, though, her thoughts raced. Okay, Ari, that was funny, right? Right? They’re laughing. Phew. But wait—did that sound vain? Sarcastic? Ugh, someone on Twitter’s gonna call it problematic, aren’t they?

She glanced at the audience—celebrities in couture, executives in stiff suits. They all get it. We all do it. It’s Hollywood, babe.

Her smile stayed flawless. Years of training. Years of knowing when to be the joke before becoming the joke.

Control the narrative.

She flipped her ponytail. "Kidding. Kind of. Anyway, love you …

Ronaldo and Messi, The Last Time They Played in Europe

dehongi Jan. 27, 2024, 4:57 p.m.

Ronaldo: Hey Messi, how are you feeling after joining PSG?
Messi: I'm feeling great, thanks. How about you? How's life at Manchester United?
Ronaldo: It's amazing. I'm back to where I belong. I'm the king of Old Trafford.
Messi: Well, good for you. I'm also enjoying my time at Paris. I'm playing with some of the best players in the world.
Ronaldo: Like who? Neymar? Mbappe? They are good, but they are not on my level.
Messi: Oh, really? What about you? Who are you playing with? Fernandes? Pogba? They are decent, but they are not on my level.
Ronaldo: Come on, Messi. You know I'm the best player in the world. I have more goals, more assists, more trophies, more awards than you.
Messi: That's not true, Ronaldo. You know I'm the best player in the world. I have more skills, more creativity, more vision, more magic than you.
Ronaldo: Skills? Creativity? Vision? Magic? What are those? …

We Don't Know What is Happening Behind The Curtain

khayam Jan. 27, 2024, 8:16 a.m.

اسرار ازل را نه تو دانی و نه من
وین حرف معما نه تو خوانی و نه من

هست از پس پرده گفتگوی من و تو
چون پرده برون بر افتد نه تو مانی و نه من

Neither you nor I know the secrets of eternity
And, neither you nor I can read the words of the riddle

Behind the curtain is a conversation between you and me
Because if the curtain falls, remain neither you nor me

The News

Sara sat on the couch with her granny, watching the news on TV. She saw images of bombs, fires, and blood. She heard words like "conflict", "casualty", and "crisis". She felt a knot in her stomach and tears in her eyes.

"Why are they doing this, granny?" she asked. "Why are they hurting each other?"

Granny sighed and hugged Sara. "I don't know, my dear. I don't know."

"Can't we do something to stop …

Financial Independance Equals Being Wealthy?

dehongi Jan. 11, 2024, 5:24 p.m.

Sarah and David were two friends who grew up in the same neighborhood. Sarah was always ambitious and hardworking, and she eventually became a successful lawyer. David, on the other hand, was more laid-back and preferred to pursue his passions, which included playing music and writing.

Sarah was very proud of her career and her financial success. She had a big house, a fancy car, and all the latest gadgets. However, Sarah was often stressed and unhappy. She worked long hours and was constantly worried about money.

David, on the other hand, was much happier. He didn't have a lot of money, but he didn't need it. He was able to live comfortably on his music and writing income, and he had a lot of free time to pursue his passions.

Sarah and David often talked about their different lives. Sarah often envied David's freedom and happiness, while David often …