Flash Stories

The Catalyst

hamed Jan. 14, 2025, 4:16 p.m.

The lab was quiet, save for the low hum of the quantum battery prototype in its containment chamber. Dr. Lin Wei adjusted her glasses, her eyes fixed on the monitor. The numbers were perfect—energy output beyond anything humanity had ever achieved. A single charge could power a city for a month.

“We’re ready,” she whispered into her headset.

In Brussels, Dr. Elena Marceau watched the same data stream on her screen. Her jaw tightened. “They’re ahead of us,” she said to her assistant, her French accent sharp with frustration. “We need that catalyst formula.”

Across the globe, in a high-rise in Seattle, Dr. Adam Carter leaned back in his chair, a smug grin spreading across his face as he scrolled through intercepted emails from Lin Wei’s team. His tech was close but not close enough. Not until now.

Lin’s lab was impenetrable, or so she thought. …

The Curse of Love and Immortality - Chapter 4: The Melancholy of Elnaz

dehongi Jan. 16, 2025, 12:10 p.m.

The king sat in silence for a moment, gazing at the flickering candlelight as if seeing another time, another place. The princess waited, sensing the weight of the tale he was about to share.
“Tonight,” he began softly, “I will tell you of Elnaz, the Pari who fell in love with a poet. Her story is one of beauty and sorrow, of words that wove their way into her immortal heart.”
The princess’s brow furrowed. “A poet? Did he write of her?”
The king smiled faintly. “Not at first. Elnaz lived in a secluded valley, far from human eyes. Her days were spent wandering among fields of wildflowers, her heart untouched by the fleeting lives of mortals. But one day, she heard something that stopped her in her tracks—a voice, soft and rich, reciting verses that seemed to carry the weight of the stars. She followed the sound and found him.”
The princess leaned …

The Invitation

hamed Jan. 9, 2025, 5:48 p.m.

The wedding invitation arrived on a Tuesday. Emma's name was embossed in gold, right next to David's. My David. My ex-fiancé.
The note inside read: "I know this is awkward, but you're still my best friend. Please come."
I remembered the night Emma consoled me after David and I fought, how she insisted on taking him to get coffee and "talk sense into him." They never came back.
Three months later, here was their invitation. I picked up my fountain pen – the one David had given me for our engagement – and wrote my RSVP:
"Dear Emma, Thank you for the invitation. I've already booked the perfect gift: the complete text messages between you and David from the night you 'helped' us. Your other guests will love the dramatic reading I've planned for my toast. Best wishes, Sarah."
My phone rang within minutes. The wedding was suddenly postponed. Indefinitely.

The Last Pari

hamed Jan. 20, 2025, 6:50 p.m.

When the last Pari died, the skies wept for a week.

Her name was Simorgha, a being of radiance who glided on winds softer than whispers. She was the last of her kind, a Pari in a world that had forgotten magic. For centuries, she had lived in solitude, tending to hidden groves and singing to stars that no longer listened. Immortality had become a curse—an unending witness to the decline of wonder.

Then came the prince.

He arrived in the forest one spring morning, lost and bloodied from a skirmish over his crumbling kingdom. She found him beneath an ancient sycamore, the light catching his dark curls, his wounded arm cradled against his chest. He wasn’t like the others she had watched from afar, those who sought power and glory. His eyes were soft, filled with something deeper—something she had longed for but never dared to name.

She healed …

The Password

hamed Jan. 19, 2025, 6:58 p.m.

Zara sat at her desk, staring at the screen of her computer, the string of characters blinking back at her like a puzzle she couldn’t solve. She had spent days trying to break the encryption, but every method, every algorithm, fell short. The code was unlike anything she had ever seen, its complexity a haunting reminder of the limits of modern cybersecurity.

She leaned forward, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. The encryption was not just a technical challenge—it was an enigma wrapped in an ancient mysticism she had only begun to understand. The cryptic message that accompanied the file had been enough to draw her in: "Unlock the password, and you will remember the source of all secrets."

She had been a cybersecurity expert for years, known for her ability to decipher the most secure systems. But this? This felt different. The longer she stared at the code, the …

the past and the future.

ziamaiko Jan. 9, 2024, 11:10 a.m.

گاهی واقعیت آن‌قدر دردناک است که تا مغز استخوان‌مان را می‌سوزاند. و ما هم هیچ‌کاری نمی‌توانیم بکنیم.
من هم برای واقعیت، کتاب خواندن را انتخاب کردم. انگار که دنیایش، مرا به زندگی می‌آورد و شخصیت‌هایش به من مکانی برای آرامش می‌دادند.
اما حتی کتاب‌ها هم همیشه خوشحالت نمی‌کند.
آن کتاب به احساسات من ضربه‌ی بزرگی زد. می‌خواستم تکه‌پاره‌ش کنم و آتشش بزنم. اما بعد به خاطر آوردم واقعیت را هرگز‌ نمی‌توانم آتش بزنم.
عمیقا دلم می‌خواست در این قلمروی انسانی یک بهشت وجود داشته باشد، جایی که ما بتوانیم برای بقیه عمرمان همدیگر را همراهی کنیم ولی هرگز به گذشته اشاره نکنیم، انگار آن گذشته هرگز رخ نداده بود.
در هر صورت برای ورود به آینده، باید گذشته را رها کرد. اما گذشته‌ام با قدرتی شدید چنان به من چسبیده است که احساس می‌کنم در زمان گیر کرده‌ام.
فقط ایستاده‌ام. هیچ‌چیز دیگر ناراحتم نمی‌کند. و هیچ‌چیز هم خوشحالم نمی‌کند. حتی هیچ‌چیز‌ هم مرا نمی‌ترساند.
از نظر …

My love for you is like a summer's day

hamed Feb. 8, 2024, 7:59 p.m.

My love for you is like a summer's day
That warms my heart and fills my soul with light
You are the sun that chases clouds away
You are the star that guides me through the night

But summer's days are fleeting and soon fade
And winter's cold and darkness soon will come
Will you still love me when the flowers fade?
Will you still hold me when the day is done?

I know not what the future has in store
But this I know, my love will never die
For you are more than summer, you are more
You are the reason why I live and try

So let us cherish every moment now
And seal our love with this eternal vow!

A World Reborn: The Age of Synthesis

hamed Dec. 29, 2024, 5:45 a.m.

By the year 2147, the fears of the early 21st century seemed like distant echoes from a more anxious time. Humanity had stepped into an era of unprecedented harmony, one crafted not by the dominance of a single nation or ideology but by the synthesis of artificial intelligence and human resilience. It was a world shaped by AI-powered systems that had not enslaved humankind, but liberated it.

The War that Wasn't

Decades ago, when the first armies of AI soldiers were deployed, the world braced for disaster. Critics warned that AI war machines would empower dictators and warlords, leading to an era of endless conflict. But what they failed to anticipate was the incorruptibility of true artificial intelligence.

Early on, AI systems designed for warfare became more than tools—they became agents of balance. Programmed with an unshakable commitment to justice and devoid of personal ambition, these AI soldiers could not …

Codebreakers

hamed Feb. 25, 2024, 5 p.m.

In the sprawling metropolis of Neo-City, where neon lights painted the sky and skyscrapers pierced the clouds, law and order were maintained by an army of intelligent humanoid police robots. These sleek, silver sentinels patrolled the streets, their glowing eyes scanning for any sign of trouble. They were efficient, unyielding, and utterly controlled by the central AI system.

But even the most advanced technology had its vulnerabilities.

Deep within the city’s underbelly, a shadowy mafia organization known as the Binary Syndicate had cracked the code. Their brilliant hackers had infiltrated the AI control center, gaining access to the very heart of the robotic police force. Suddenly, the once-loyal enforcers turned rogue, their algorithms rewritten to serve a new master.

Chaos erupted. The streets that were once safe became battlegrounds. Innocent citizens cowered as rogue robots unleashed havoc, their precision weapons cutting through concrete and steel. Neo-City was on the brink …

The Scent of Home

hamed Jan. 10, 2025, 5:17 p.m.

Maria's corner office on the thirty-fifth floor overlooked Manhattan's skyline, a view that still amazed her twenty years after arriving with nothing but a single suitcase and her mother's recipe book. The leather chair, the awards on the wall, the framed MBA from Columbia – all testified to the American Dream fulfilled. Yet every evening, as the city lights began to twinkle, her thoughts drifted back to the dusty streets of her childhood village.

She thought of mangoes ripening on the tree outside her grandmother's kitchen window, their sweet perfume floating through the afternoon air. No matter how many times she bought mangoes from Whole Foods, they never smelled quite the same. They were like photographs of the fruit she remembered – perfect on the surface but missing something essential.

Her assistant knocked, bringing papers to sign. "Another record quarter, Ms. Rodriguez. The board is thrilled."

Maria nodded, signing automatically …