Flash Stories

The Nightingale’s Last Song

hamed Jan. 19, 2025, 5:14 p.m.

The old woman sat in her weathered armchair, its floral fabric faded by decades of sunlight streaming through the window. Her name was Shirin, but to her granddaughter Laleh, she was simply Maman Bozorg. The aroma of brewed saffron tea lingered in the air, mingling with the faint scent of rosewater from the sweets they had shared earlier.

Outside, the city of Tehran hummed with its usual nighttime symphony—distant car horns, the faint wail of a street vendor, and the wind whispering through the leaves of the sycamore trees lining their quiet lane. But inside, there was silence.

Laleh sat cross-legged on the rug by her grandmother’s feet, cradling a small ceramic nightingale in her hands. “Tell me again about Rostam,” she whispered.

Shirin smiled, her face a map of lines etched by time and sorrow. Her voice, though soft, carried the weight of generations. “Rostam,” she began, “was not …

The Mirror

rumi Dec. 29, 2023, 7:08 p.m.

She had always loved mirrors. As a child, she would spend hours in front of them, admiring her reflection, imagining she was a princess or a fairy. She would dress up in her mother's clothes and jewelry, and pretend she was someone else.

As she grew older, her fascination with mirrors did not fade. She collected them from different places, different eras, different shapes and sizes. She hung them on the walls of her apartment, creating a gallery of her own beauty. She would stare at them, mesmerized by her own image, oblivious to the world outside.

She had no friends, no lovers, no hobbies, no interests. She only had herself, and her mirrors. She thought she was happy, until one day, she found a new mirror.

It was an antique, a gift from her aunt who had passed away. It was oval, with a golden frame, and intricate carvings. …

White Silence

hamed Jan. 17, 2025, 2:15 p.m.

The wind howled like a wolf circling its prey, rattling the windows of the small farmhouse. Snow piled higher by the hour, burying the fences and erasing the world beyond the walls. Inside, the Murphy family huddled close to the crackling fire.

Pa paced the room, his shadow flickering on the log walls. "If this keeps up, the barn’ll collapse under the weight," he muttered, pulling on his coat.

"You’re not going out there," Ma snapped, clutching her shawl. "You’ll freeze before you get halfway."

"I won’t lose the animals, Margaret."

"You’ll lose yourself. Then what’ll we do?"

Their eldest, Sarah, watched in silence, her little brother Timmy tucked under her arm. The boy’s face was pale, his breath shallow—he’d been coughing for days, and the cold made it worse.

"We could dig a tunnel," Sarah said suddenly.

Pa stopped pacing. "What?"

"A tunnel. To the barn. We could make …

The Love Letter

hamed Feb. 8, 2024, 6:28 p.m.

She found the letter in her mailbox. It was written on a fine paper, with a delicate handwriting. It was addressed to her, but it had no name or stamp. It was a love letter.

She read it with curiosity and wonder. It was full of compliments and confessions. It said she was the most beautiful and charming woman in Paris. It said she had captivated the heart and the mind of the writer. It said he wanted to meet her and to make her happy. It said he loved her.

She felt a mix of emotions. She was flattered and intrigued. She was also confused and suspicious. Who was he? How did he know her? Why did he write to her? She had no clue. She had no admirers. She had no lovers. She had no friends. She was alone.

She was a Jewish woman living in Nazi-occupied Paris. …

The Case of the Missing Semicolon

hamed Jan. 8, 2025, 7:43 p.m.

In the bustling city of Codeville, where algorithms roamed and data structures thrived, there was a detective known for solving the most perplexing cases of the digital age. His name was Syntax, and his badge was a shiny if statement.

One foggy morning, as Syntax sipped his binary coffee, an urgent message beeped through his console. It was from the mayor of Codeville, Loop Mayor, whose programs had been running flawlessly until yesterday.

"Detective Syntax," the message read, "a semicolon has gone missing from my latest project. Without it, my world is in chaos. Please, find it before the next compilation!"

Syntax donned his trench coat, which was lined with pseudocode, and set off into the binary streets. He knew that in Codeville, every semicolon was crucial, a linchpin in the delicate balance of code execution.

His first stop was at the notorious Syntax Error Café, where he found …

Echoes of Earth

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

Commander Elena Martinez floated in the quiet solitude of the Mars capsule, her hands steady as she adjusted the controls, guiding their craft closer to the Red Planet. The stars outside the small porthole shimmered, distant and cold, like pinpricks of hope in an endless, empty canvas.

She was the first to leave Earth with a mission that felt bigger than any one person—humanity’s boldest leap into the unknown. They called it Ares Venture, a pioneering journey that would mark the beginning of colonizing Mars, of securing humanity’s future beyond their fragile home. Yet, despite all the technology, the sleek spacecraft, and the mission’s grand purpose, Elena couldn’t shake the feeling of being utterly, terribly alone.

The other astronauts were awake—some conducting experiments, others preparing for the arrival—but Elena felt the weight of the silence in her chest. It wasn’t the absence of sound that unsettled her. It was the …

For these days are fleeting and will not return

khayam Jan. 20, 2024, 7:03 p.m.

با دوستان می‌نوش و گل بر سر بنه
کاین روزها رفتنی‌اند و بر نمی‌گردند
با خود بگو که چه کار داری با دی و فردا
کاین دم که داری بیا و بر لب ما بنه

Drink wine with friends and put a flower on your head
For these days are fleeting and will not return
Tell yourself what business do you have with yesterday and tomorrow
This moment that you have, come and put it on our lips

Story:

They met at a tavern, two strangers in a foreign land. They shared a table, a bottle of wine, and a conversation. They laughed at the absurdity of life, the futility of chasing the past or the future, and the beauty of the present moment.

They decided to leave the tavern together, and walk along the moonlit streets. They stopped at a garden, where they plucked some flowers and put them on their heads. They kissed under …

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 Sound of Silence

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 4:58 p.m.

Olena crouched by the window, her eyes tracing the distant skyline where the city’s once-proud spires now stood jagged and broken against the pale, grey sky. The sounds of war were a constant presence now—booms in the distance, the faint crackle of gunfire, and the ever-present hum of sirens that had become as much a part of daily life as the hum of her own heartbeat.

She used to wake up to the sounds of birds outside, her children’s laughter, the chatter of neighbors exchanging morning greetings. But that was before.

Now, each day felt like a fragile thread stretched too thin, one tug away from snapping. The world had changed overnight, and the city she had loved so much was slowly crumbling, piece by piece.

Yet, amid the chaos, Olena still managed to find moments of peace. A bowl of warm soup shared with her mother, the brief comfort …

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 …