Flash Stories

The Price of Peace

hamed Jan. 10, 2025, 5:29 p.m.

James Morgan wiped the sweat from his brow as he looked at the faded sign of Morgan & Sons Hardware. For twenty-four years, he'd been the first to arrive and the last to leave, just as his father had taught him. Through recessions, big-box store competition, and personal hardships, he'd kept the family business alive, ensuring his younger siblings Michael and Sarah had college educations and comfortable lives.

The betrayal came during a routine family meeting. Michael, now a lawyer, had drawn up new ownership papers. Sarah, with her MBA, had spreadsheets showing how "restructuring" would benefit everyone. They spoke of modernization, efficiency, and market realities. The fine print told a different story – one that would leave James with nothing but memories.

"It's just business," Michael had said, not meeting his eyes.

"The market doesn't care about sentiment," Sarah had added, her voice rehearsed.

After the dust settled and …

We Don't Know What is Happening Behind The Curtain

khayam Jan. 27, 2024, 8:16 a.m.

اسرار ازل را نه تو دانی و نه من
وین حرف معما نه تو خوانی و نه من

هست از پس پرده گفتگوی من و تو
چون پرده برون بر افتد نه تو مانی و نه من

Neither you nor I know the secrets of eternity
And, neither you nor I can read the words of the riddle

Behind the curtain is a conversation between you and me
Because if the curtain falls, remain neither you nor me

The News

Sara sat on the couch with her granny, watching the news on TV. She saw images of bombs, fires, and blood. She heard words like "conflict", "casualty", and "crisis". She felt a knot in her stomach and tears in her eyes.

"Why are they doing this, granny?" she asked. "Why are they hurting each other?"

Granny sighed and hugged Sara. "I don't know, my dear. I don't know."

"Can't we do something to stop …

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 …

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 …

Rumor Has It

hamed Jan. 29, 2025, 6:10 p.m.

Ashanti swirled her straw in her iced tea, watching Nelly smirk across the restaurant table. “So…” he started, dragging out the word like he was setting up a punchline. “You seen the blogs lately?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, you mean the Ashanti & Nelly Baby Watch 2025 nonsense?”

Nelly chuckled, leaning back. “Girl, they got full-on baby names picked out for us. ‘Lil’ Nelly Jr.’ and ‘Princess Shanti.’”

Ashanti nearly choked on her drink. “Not Princess Shanti!”

He shrugged. “Hey, at least they got taste.”

She shook her head, tapping her nails on the table. “It’s wild how I can just wear a loose hoodie one day, and boom—instant pregnancy.”

Nelly grinned. “That, or we just look too good together. Makes folks wanna manifest a whole baby.”

Ashanti tilted her head. “So… you saying you wanna manifest one?”

His smirk faltered for a split second—barely noticeable. But she caught …

The New Secretary

hamed Jan. 26, 2025, 4:54 p.m.

The oak-paneled walls of the Pentagon’s Secretary of Defense office felt more like a bunker than a workspace. Pete Hegseth adjusted his tie, his reflection staring back from the massive mirror behind the desk. First day on the job, and the weight of the title pressed harder than the medals he once wore on his chest.

The morning briefing had been routine—updates on troop movements, supply chains, budget reallocations. But the last item slid across his desk by an aide named Sanderson caught his eye: Operation Ironfall.

The file was marked Eyes Only, its contents sparse. A few pages outlined a highly classified joint task force operation involving military bases in Eastern Europe. But something didn’t add up. The language was vague, almost deliberately so. And the signature authorizing the operation? General Mark Cavanaugh—retired six months ago.

Hegseth leaned back, tapping the edge of the file with his pen. “Sanderson,” …

The Other Me

hamed Jan. 20, 2025, 4:17 p.m.

The office was quiet, the kind of startup quiet where everyone wore noise-canceling headphones and communicated in Slack emojis. Sarah adjusted her desk chair, staring at the figure seated across from her.

Her exact double.

The layoffs had come suddenly, wiping out half her industry overnight. Jobs dried up as AI models got sharper, faster, cheaper. When she’d landed this gig at NextSynch, she’d been desperate enough not to ask too many questions. But she hadn’t expected her to be part of the deal.

Her double had Sarah’s face, her posture, even her nervous habit of tapping a pen against the desk. But there was an uncanny precision in the way it moved, like it was on rails.

“Good morning, Sarah,” it said, looking up from its screen. Its voice was hers, but smoother, polished, like someone had edited out all the imperfections.

“Morning,” Sarah replied, pretending not to feel …

The Last Message

hamed Jan. 30, 2025, 7:02 p.m.

Liam’s phone buzzed at 2:13 a.m.

It was from Noah.

"I'm still here. Find me before they do."

Liam sat up, heart pounding. Noah had been missing for two weeks. The police had given up. His parents had stopped hoping. But here was a message—impossible, urgent.

He forwarded it to Harper and Zane. Within minutes, they were on a group call.

“This has to be a prank,” Zane whispered.

Harper disagreed. “Look at the message timestamp. It came from his number.”

They followed the only clue they had—Noah’s last known location, an abandoned radio station on the edge of town.

By 3 a.m., they were standing outside the rusting building. Liam hesitated before stepping in. The air was thick with dust and something else—something wrong.

Harper’s phone vibrated. Another text.

"Too late. They're coming."

The door behind them slammed shut.

Zane gasped. “What was that?”

Then, from the shadows, a …

The children of Adam are limbs of each other

saadi Dec. 30, 2023, 3:52 p.m.

The children of Adam are limbs of each other
Having been created of one essence.
When the calamity of time afflicts one limb
The other limbs cannot remain at rest.
If thou hast no sympathy for the troubles of others
Thou art unworthy to be called by the name of a human.

-

Zara was a young journalist who had traveled to Iran to cover the aftermath of a devastating earthquake. She had seen many tragedies in her career, but nothing prepared her for the sight of the rubble, the cries of the survivors, and the smell of death. She felt a pang of guilt as she snapped photos and interviewed people, wondering if she was exploiting their pain for her own gain.

One day, she met a boy named Ali, who had lost his entire family in the quake. He was living in a makeshift tent with some other orphans, sharing a meager ration …

The Gingerbread Rebellion

hamed Jan. 30, 2025, 7:04 p.m.

Mira loved baking more than anything. She spent hours in her tiny kitchen, mixing, kneading, and frosting her worries away. But everything changed the day she whispered, "I wish you were real," to a batch of gingerbread cookies.

The dough twitched. Frosting eyes blinked. Then, one by one, they stood up.

At first, it was adorable. The cookies danced across the counter, bowing and waving. But then the cupcakes started singing. The eclairs marched like soldiers. And when the towering chocolate cake groaned and stretched its fondant limbs, Mira realized she had a problem.

"Uh… guys? Maybe calm down?" she said.

But the gingerbread leader, a tiny cookie with a candy cane sword, puffed out his chest. "We have been given life, Mistress Mira! And we demand freedom!"

The pastries cheered.

Mira groaned. "I just wanted dessert, not a dessert uprising."

The battle was swift. She dodged a flying macaron, …