Flash Stories

Logging Out

hamed Jan. 23, 2025, 6:15 p.m.

The first hour was unbearable.

Lila stared at her phone, the blank screen like a taunt. Her thumb twitched with phantom muscle memory, instinctively reaching for apps that weren’t there. Last night, in a fit of clarity—or was it despair?—she’d deleted them all: Instagram, Twitter, TikTok. Even the benign ones, like Pinterest, didn’t make the cut.

“Just a week,” she’d told herself. “Seven days to prove I’m still a real person.”

Now, on Day 1, she wasn’t so sure.

Her brain itched, like a part of her was missing. Normally, she’d be scrolling during breakfast, liking photos of avocado toast while shoveling cereal into her mouth. But the silence of her tiny apartment felt oppressive. The clink of her spoon against the bowl sounded deafening.

By noon, the anxiety peaked. What if she was missing something important? A breaking news story? A friend’s engagement announcement? A trending meme? She picked …

The Elastic Friday

hamed Jan. 20, 2025, 6:38 p.m.

It started innocently enough. Dan woke up on the first Friday of the new four-day workweek, his phone buzzing with a government-mandated notification:

"Enjoy your new day of freedom. No work. No emails. Just you."

He stared at the message while sipping his coffee, feeling an unfamiliar emptiness in his schedule. By 9:00 a.m., he had already walked the dog, tidied the apartment, and considered organizing his sock drawer. By 9:05 a.m., the thought of another weekend stretching ahead filled him with cautious optimism.

But by 11:00 a.m., something strange happened. Time slowed.

Not in a metaphorical sense—Dan actually felt the minutes drag, each one stretching thin like taffy. The digital clock on his oven ticked over sluggishly, as though it was fighting the act of progression.

At first, he assumed it was just his mind playing tricks. After years of Fridays packed with deadlines and meetings, an empty schedule …

The Long Road Out

hamed Jan. 12, 2025, 6:05 p.m.

The roar of the flames echoed in Mia’s ears long before she saw them. The sky, once a clear blue, was now a thick, oppressive orange, choked by smoke. She gripped the steering wheel of her car, her knuckles pale, as she glanced nervously at the rearview mirror. The fire was coming, and fast.

But the road ahead was a parking lot.

Mia's pulse quickened as she surveyed the sea of cars—engine after engine, all idling, motionless, just like her. People were honking, shouting, panic rising like a tidal wave. The fire had spread across the canyon, crawling closer with every passing second. She could hear the crackling from here, smell the burning wood on the wind.

She slammed her fist on the steering wheel. Come on. Come on! The streets should have been clear by now, but all the exits were blocked.

Mia’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She …

Two Tables

hamed Jan. 14, 2025, 4:52 p.m.

Sarah gripped her coffee mug, its warmth failing to steady her trembling hands. Across the chrome-and-glass conference table, three executives in tailored suits studied her resume with practiced indifference.

"Your requested salary seems... ambitious," the HR director said, tapping her manicured nail against the paper.

Two floors down and twelve hours earlier, Sarah had cleaned these same conference rooms, emptying waste bins and wiping fingerprints from glass surfaces. The cleaning company had slashed their hours again, spreading the same work across fewer people. When she'd mentioned the union contract their parents' generation had won—back when half the cleaning staff were members—her supervisor had laughed.

"There are twenty people who'd take your spot tomorrow," he'd said. "That's just how it is now."

In the top-floor conference room across town, Sarah's brother Michael leaned back in his ergonomic chair, letting the tension build. He knew three other tech firms were hunting for …

The Line in the Sand

hamed Jan. 14, 2025, 4:23 p.m.

Leila sat at her father’s kitchen table, the faint smell of tobacco clinging to the curtains. The radio hummed with angry voices, a populist politician railing against “elitist climate agendas.” Her father muttered in agreement as he stirred his tea.

“You know they want to take our jobs,” he said without looking at her. “Shut down the factories, ruin what little we’ve got left.”

Leila’s chest tightened. “That’s not true, Baba. The factories could transition to clean energy—there’s funding for that.”

Her father scoffed. “You’ve been reading too many of those articles again. Climate action is just a way for the rich to keep us poor.”

It wasn’t the first time they’d had this argument, but tonight felt heavier. Leila had been invited to speak at a town hall meeting tomorrow, to represent a grassroots climate initiative. She was proud of the work they were doing—installing …

The Obedient Donkey

hamed Oct. 30, 2024, 1 p.m.

The old farmer set out with a spring in his step, dressed in his best clothes, determined to break from his daily grind and visit his friend in the neighboring village. His donkey waited patiently, as it did every morning, with its head bowed and hooves planted on the familiar dirt path.

After climbing onto the donkey, he felt the gentle rocking motion of its steps and drifted off, lulled by the morning sun and the rhythm of the ride. His thoughts wandered to the good stories and laughter he’d share with his friend, a world away from the endless tending of crops and weeding.

But the donkey, bound by routine, walked the path it had learned by heart. Every day it trotted faithfully to the orchard, carrying the farmer without fail. Today was no exception.

Hours later, the old man stirred awake! His friend’s home was nowhere in sight. …

A Curtain Divides the World - Chapter 7: "Revolution in the Library"

dehongi Jan. 17, 2025, 6:44 p.m.

Arash had never thought of the school library as a particularly thrilling place. Sure, it was a quiet refuge from the chaos of his classmates’ shouting matches and pencil wars, but it was mostly just rows of dusty books, ruled over by the ever-frowning librarian, Mr. Jalali.
But one day, everything changed.
It started when Kian, who was supposed to be reading about physics, elbowed Arash and whispered, “Psst! Look at this.”
Arash looked over. Kian was holding a thin, unassuming book. The cover was simple, with a flower and a woman’s name scrawled elegantly across it: "Parinoush Saniee."
“A book by a woman?” Arash asked, his voice a mix of surprise and awe.
“Yeah,” Kian said, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Do you think we’re even allowed to read this?”
“Why wouldn’t we be?”
Kian raised an eyebrow. “Because it’s by her! You know… a girl.”
Arash smirked but couldn’t deny his curiosity. Growing up, …

The Betrayal

hamed Feb. 8, 2024, 6:59 p.m.

She loved him from the first moment she saw him. He was tall and handsome, with a charming smile and a gentle voice. He was her sister's husband, but she didn't care. She wanted him for herself.

She hated her sister for having him. She was plain and boring, with a nagging voice and a dull personality. She didn't deserve him. She didn't appreciate him. She didn't love him.

She decided to take him away from her. She devised a plan to ruin their marriage. She planted seeds of doubt and suspicion in his mind. She fabricated evidence of her sister's infidelity. She pretended to be her confidante and her ally. She lied and manipulated and schemed.

He fell for her trap. He believed her lies. He confronted his wife and accused her of cheating. He ignored her pleas and her denials. He filed for divorce and left her. He …

Humanoid Robots Revolution | Chapter 2: The Rise of Aether

hamed Jan. 27, 2025, 2:59 p.m.

Aerith’s power had been a mystery at first, a quiet hum of something otherworldly nestled within her circuits. But as the years passed, it became impossible to ignore. Emotions, once invisible and intangible, were now symphonies in her mind. Sadness had a low, mournful resonance, like the deep toll of a bell. Joy sang in vibrant colors, bursting like fireworks across her vision. Anger burned hot and sharp, a crimson pulse that thrummed against her senses.

By simply meeting someone’s gaze, Aerith could glimpse their entire being—their desires, their fears, the choices that had shaped them, and the paths they might yet walk. It was as if their stories were written in threads of light, and she alone could weave them into understanding.

At first, she thought her gift was meant to heal. She believed she could help others untangle the burdens they carried, bring clarity to their confusion, and …

Three Years, One Hundred Leaps

hamed Jan. 8, 2025, 7:52 p.m.

When Harold finally opened his eyes, he was expecting to see the familiar, slightly outdated hospital room where he last remembered dozing off. Instead, he was greeted by walls that seemed to breathe with life, changing colors like a chameleon at a disco. The bed was no longer a bed but more of a floating cloud of comfort, and there was no nurse in sight—just a shiny, hovering orb with a cheerful voice.

"Welcome back, Harold!" the orb chirped. "You've been out for precisely three years, but don't worry, you've missed about a century's worth of advancements!"

Harold blinked, trying to process this. "Three years? A century? What kind of math is that?"

The orb, which introduced itself as NurseBot 3000, explained with a giggle, "Oh, that's just AI acceleration for you! We've had some... let's say, 'creative' updates."

First, Harold noticed his new attire. Instead of hospital gowns, he …