Flash Stories

The Feast of the Div

hamed Jan. 18, 2025, 6:50 p.m.

Amir’s bike hummed against the late-night air, the city’s lights flickering like fireflies as he navigated through the quiet streets. His shift as a food delivery worker had started hours ago, and the streets had grown emptier with each passing minute. But then, a new order popped up—a delivery to a mansion at the edge of the city, one he’d never seen before.

The address was strange, hidden in the folds of the mountain ridge. But Amir, desperate for the extra tip, accepted. His phone flashed the message: A large feast. The div will be waiting.

He frowned. Div? Was this a themed party or some weird joke? Shrugging it off, he followed the route on his phone, pushing past the outskirts of the city. As he neared the mansion, the road seemed to narrow, the streetlights growing dimmer. By the time he reached the gates, the place looked almost …

sweet gaze.

ziamaiko Feb. 3, 2024, 7:44 a.m.

چاقوی زرین‌نگارش را محکم در دست گرفت. انگار قرار بود لیز بخورد و نابود شود. خودش هم اطمینان کامل را به خودش نداشت. انگار در همین لحظه چیزها قرار بود نابود شوند.
دختر‌ک ضعیف رو به رویش روی زمین افتاده بود. دیگر تکان نمی‌خورد. نه اینکه نمی‌توانست تکان بخورد، دیگر نمی‌خواست که تکان بخورد!
«این.. خنجر پدرمه.»
«می‌دونم. اون قبلا کسی رو باهاش نکشته، اینطور نیست؟»
او اخم می‌کند. «پس با چیزهای دیگه مردم رو کشته.»
«هنوز در گوشه‌ای از ذهنم این باور وجود داره که اون مرد خوبی بوده.»
داد می‌زند. «هیچ‌کدوم از مردم خوبی اون رو نمی‌گن!»
هرگاه مردم می‌گفتند کسی خداست، حتما بود. و اگر می‌گفتند آن شخص لجن است، حتما بود. هرچه مردم می‌گفتند شخص همان بود. و انسان همان می‌شد. روال طبیعی همین بود!
دخترک به چشم‌های تاریکش نگاه کرد. «من وقتی بچه بودم تلاش می‌کردم با شیطان صحبت کنم تا شاید فرد خوبی بشه‌‌. من می‌تونم تورو هم آدم بهتری کنم.»
«شیطان با …

The Unseen Caretaker

hamed Oct. 6, 2024, 8:28 a.m.

Thomas had always been the rock for everyone he loved. He carried their burdens as if they were his own. His aging mother’s hospital visits, his sister’s endless crises, and his best friend’s recurring need for money—all of it rested on his shoulders. And he bore it willingly, believing that love meant sacrifice.

He thought if he gave enough, if he was always there, surely they would love him back. He never spoke of his own struggles, his quiet pain, the hollow loneliness that clawed at him late at night. He didn't want to be a burden. His happiness could wait. There was always someone more important, someone who needed him first.

The years passed, and Thomas became a shadow of himself. His face, once bright with kindness, now wore the lines of exhaustion. One by one, those he cared for drifted away. His mother passed, his sister moved across …

Embers of the Earth

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 5:33 p.m.

Jenna had been a firefighter long enough to know that the crackling fire on the horizon was a harbinger of destruction, but nothing could prepare her for the enormity of what was coming. The sun, a fiery orb behind the smoke, painted the sky with the color of rage, its heat suffocating the land.

The fires had started as a whisper in the distance—an ember, a spark, a small flame. But by the time she and her team arrived, the inferno was a monstrous roar, devouring everything in its path. She gripped her hose tighter, her hands raw from the constant pressure. "We fight, we don’t run," she whispered to herself, but the words felt hollow.

As the fire raged, the thick, choking smoke made it hard to see, harder to breathe. The world around them was an endless sea of orange and black. Jenna’s mind flashed back to her …

The Forgotten King

hamed Dec. 23, 2024, 5:27 a.m.

The wind howled through the crumbling ruins of an ancient palace, buried deep within the Alborz mountains. Mehran, a wandering bard, stumbled upon the remnants of a courtyard. Marble lions guarded the entrance, their faces weathered but defiant. In the air lingered a faint hum, like a melody half-forgotten, tethered to the past.

He knelt beside a fountain, its water long dried, and sang an old verse:

"When night betrays the veil of dawn,
The rightful king shall yet be drawn."

No sooner had the words left his lips than the earth beneath him trembled. From the shadows emerged an old man cloaked in shimmering gold, his face obscured by a jeweled mask.

"Who dares disturb the silence of Siyavashgard?" The voice was thunderous, commanding reverence.

Mehran’s heart raced. "A seeker of truth," he replied, clutching his lyre. "Are you a specter, or are you... the king?"

The figure stepped closer, …

The White Div's Daughter

hamed Jan. 19, 2025, 5:44 p.m.

The cavern shimmered with frost, each crystal a fragile web of light. Shirin sat at the mouth of the cave, her pale hair spilling like moonlight down her back, her eyes fixed on the human camp far below. Smoke curled from their fires, faint against the starlit sky.

Her father’s voice boomed behind her, shaking the earth. “You’ve been staring at them again.”

Shirin didn’t flinch. “They’re fascinating,” she said softly, her voice like the wind threading through winter trees.

The White Div stepped into the moonlight, his massive frame cloaked in a mantle of snow and shadows. His eyes, as cold as glaciers, narrowed. “They are dangerous.”

“Perhaps,” Shirin replied, not looking away. “But they are also brave.”

“Bravery is the disguise of weakness,” her father growled. “Do not let their fires fool you. They will snuff out your light if you draw too close.”

Shirin said nothing, but …

The Long Wait

hamed Jan. 10, 2025, 5 p.m.

Emma scrolled through her phone, deleting photos of yet another failed relationship. Six years of dating apps, blind dates, and "promising" connections had left her with nothing but a collection of stories that made her friends cringe. At thirty-four, she was beginning to wonder if her standards were too high, or if true love was just a myth invented by romance novelists.
The invitation to her fifteen-year high school reunion sat unopened on her kitchen counter. She almost tossed it, but something made her pause. Maybe it was time to revisit the past before attempting another future.
The school gymnasium hadn't changed – same squeaky floors, same faded banners. As Emma nursed her punch, watching former cheerleaders compare wedding rings, a quiet voice behind her said, "Still hiding in the corner with the red punch, huh?"
She turned to find David Chen, who'd sat behind her in AP Literature. He still had those …

Live The Moments

khayam Jan. 25, 2024, 8:57 a.m.

این یک دو سه روز نوبت عمر گذشت
چون آب به جویبار و چون باد به دشت

هرگز غم دو روز مرا یاد نگشت
روزی که نیامده ست و روزی که گذشت

This one or two or three days of Omar's turn passed
Like water in a stream and like wind in the plain

I never worry about two days in my mind
The day that has not come and the day that has passed

Story:

She was a young girl at the college, studying hard to achieve her dreams. She wanted to be a doctor, to help people and make a difference. She had a passion for learning and a curiosity for life.

But she also had a financial difficulty. She came from a poor family, who could barely afford to send her to college. She had to work part-time jobs, to pay for her tuition and expenses. She had to struggle every …

The Duchess in Room 12

hamed Jan. 16, 2025, 5:22 p.m.

The hospital buzzed with an energy that hadn’t been felt in years. Fresh flowers lined the front desk, the floors gleamed from an extra polish, and the faint smell of disinfectant mingled with the scent of anticipation.

Kate Middleton’s visit was all anyone could talk about. Staff whispered in the corridors, patients smoothed their hair in their beds, and even the normally stoic Dr. Rees had put on a tie.

In Room 12, Maria adjusted her oxygen tube nervously. The elderly woman had been battling a stubborn case of pneumonia, and while the nurses promised her she didn’t have to say anything, the thought of meeting a duchess made her palms sweat.

Outside, Kate moved through the ward with her signature grace, but up close, she was different. She crouched to speak to a little boy in a wheelchair, her face lit with genuine warmth as he showed her his …

Currency of Survival

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

Tariq tightened his grip on the bag of potatoes, his knuckles white against the coarse burlap. Around him, the market buzzed with desperation. Sellers shouted prices that changed by the hour, their voices tinged with panic. Buyers haggled with a fierceness born of necessity. Everyone’s eyes carried the same shadow: fear of tomorrow.

He glanced at the crumpled bills in his pocket, the brightly colored notes that used to mean something. This morning, he had exchanged a week’s worth of wages for them, only to find that by noon, they barely covered dinner. Hyperinflation was the word economists used. To Tariq, it was a slow unraveling of his life.

“Five kilos,” the vendor barked, eyeing Tariq’s hesitation. The woman behind him in line shifted impatiently, clutching a handful of wilted greens.

“Can you take less?” Tariq asked, his voice hoarse.

The vendor’s face hardened. “Less? Tomorrow …