Flash Stories

The First Step

hamed Jan. 16, 2025, 5:29 p.m.

It was quiet in the barracks, the hum of the ceiling fan barely cutting through the thick Gulf air. Amir sat on his bunk, fingers tracing the edge of his rifle. The weight of it in his hands felt unnatural, as if the metal and wood were meant for someone else. Someone more prepared, someone older. But here he was, just nineteen, still wearing the smell of his mother’s cooking in his uniform, still haunted by the taste of the salt in the Persian Gulf breeze as he had arrived. Now, all he could taste was the tension.

The year was 1991, and war was no longer a distant echo. It was real. It was waiting, just over the horizon. The Persian Gulf War. He had heard the name in passing, in the streets of Tehran, in the newsrooms of his hometown. But now it was his name being called, …

You Owe Me

hafiz Dec. 27, 2023, 1:44 p.m.

The sun never says to the earth,
"You owe me."
Look what happens with a love like that.
It lights up the whole sky.

---

Even after all this time
The sun never says to the earth,
"You owe me."
Look what happens with a love like that.
It lights up the whole sky.

---

I wish I could show you
When you are lonely or in darkness
The astonishing light
Of your own being.

---

Out of a great need
We are all holding hands
And climbing.
Not loving is a letting go.
Listen,
The terrain around here
Is far too dangerous
For that.

---

The moon has become a dancer
At this festival of love.
This dance of light,
This sacred blessing,
This divine love,
Beckons us
To a world beyond
Only lovers can see
With their eyes of fiery passion.

------------------------------------------------

They met at the festival of love, where the moon was the dancer and the stars were the audience. They were drawn to each other by a force beyond their control, …

The Foundation Stone

hamed Jan. 17, 2025, 2:24 p.m.

Nathaniel Ward’s hands trembled as he unrolled the parchment. The stakes were higher than any column or arch he’d ever designed. This wasn’t just a monument—it was to be the monument. A symbol for a fledgling nation clawing its way through political strife and fragile alliances.

President Washington’s words echoed in his mind: “We need more than marble and mortar, Mr. Ward. We need something that will outlast the squabbles of men.”

It had been weeks since that meeting. Nathaniel had locked himself in his workshop, ignoring the jeers of rival architects who called him too young, too inexperienced. His neighbors in the muddy streets of the District muttered that he was chasing an impossible dream.

But Nathaniel couldn’t let their doubts weigh him down. He knew what this monument had to be. It had to whisper to the future, Remember what we built here, even if we falter.

He …

My First Story

ahmad May 1, 2024, 5:58 a.m.

I didn't expect this feeling to hit me like a dodgeball to the gut during Mr. Johnson's epic history lecture on, like, the bubonic plague or something. Jessica, who usually doodles unicorns with butterfly wings in her notebook, was taking actual notes. And for some reason, the way the light hit the highlighter in her hair – it was like a sunset exploding in a highlighter factory.

My stomach did a weird flip, and I swear my notebook started sweating. This wasn't normal. Jessica had been my best friend since kindergarten, the kind of friend who shared her Dunkaroos and helped you cheat on pop quizzes (shhh, don't tell Mom). But suddenly, Dunkaroos seemed, well, childish. Now, all I craved was the courage to ask her if highlighter sunsets happened to everyone or just me.

The bell shrieked, jolting me back to reality. Jessica, ever the blur of sunshine …

Wine Without Grapes

hamed Jan. 19, 2025, 6:51 p.m.

Farid had been sober for five years, but the echo of his past still reverberated in every room he entered. The smell of whiskey on a cool evening, the warmth of a glass pressed against his lips, the rush of forgetting—it haunted him in moments of stillness. He had learned to replace the craving with quiet walks, long books, and the slow rebuilding of his life. But there were nights, like this one, when the world felt hollow, and the pull of that old, comforting numbness felt irresistible.

Tonight, he found himself wandering through a small bookstore in the city’s old quarter, a place where the walls smelled of dust and old paper. He wasn’t sure why he was there. He had come for nothing, but found something unexpected—a thin, weathered volume wedged between stacks of thick, unread tomes. The title was simple: The Wine of Love.

Curious, he flipped …

The Curse of Love and Immortality - Chapter 5: Yasmin and the Prince of Winter

dehongi Jan. 16, 2025, 12:11 p.m.

The king’s voice carried a chill that matched the story he was about to tell. The flickering flames in the hearth seemed to dance slower as he began, their warmth struggling against the weight of the tale.
“Tonight,” he said, “we speak of Yasmin, the Pari who gave her heart to a prince cursed by winter—a man whose life was bound to frost and snow, who could never feel the warmth of spring.”
The princess tilted her head. “A curse? Was it magic?”
The king nodded. “It was. The prince, Darian, had once been beloved by the gods of the seasons, but his pride earned him their wrath. He dared to say he needed no one—not even the gods themselves. For his arrogance, he was cursed to live in perpetual winter. Snow followed him wherever he went, and ice bloomed under his touch. No fire could warm him, and no sun could thaw …

The Crossroads

hamed Jan. 17, 2025, 2:26 p.m.

The morning sun streamed through the lace curtains, casting patterns on the kitchen table. Ruth Simmons sat with her hands wrapped around a cup of coffee, the aroma doing little to calm the storm in her chest. On the table beside her, two letters lay side by side like rivals in a duel.

One was the flyer for tonight’s meeting at the church—a gathering of organizers planning the next steps for the Montgomery Bus Boycott. The other was a note slipped under her door last night, its scrawled warning still fresh in her mind: “Stay quiet, or your family pays.”

From the other room came the sound of her daughter, Clara, humming a tune as she braided her hair. Ruth’s husband, Marcus, had already left for the factory, unaware of the note or the weight it carried.

Ruth closed her eyes. She could see the faces of those who had …

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 Garden

rumi Dec. 29, 2023, 7:35 p.m.

He had always hated gardens. As a child, he would avoid them, fearing the insects, the dirt, the thorns. He preferred to stay indoors, reading books, playing games, watching TV. He thought gardens were boring, messy, and useless.

As he grew older, his disdain for gardens did not change. He pursued a career in finance, working long hours, making money, buying things. He had no time for nature, no interest in flowers, no appreciation for beauty. He only cared about himself, and his success.

He had no friends, no lovers, no hobbies, no interests. He only had himself, and his things. He thought he was happy, until one day, he met her.

She was a gardener, a lover of plants, a nurturer of life. She had a smile that brightened his day, a voice that soothed his soul, a touch that healed his wounds. She showed him the wonders of …

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 …