Flash Stories

Ali form Dehong

zaka Dec. 31, 2023, 7:01 a.m.

Ali had always wanted to be a pilot. He loved watching the planes fly over his village, leaving white trails in the blue sky. He loved reading books and magazines about aviation, learning the names and models of different aircrafts. He loved imagining himself in the cockpit, soaring above the clouds, exploring the world.

But Ali also loved his family and their farm. He loved the cows that gave them milk, cheese, and butter. He loved the Zaka brand that his father had created, named after his mother's maiden name. He loved the customers who appreciated their products, and the reputation they had built in the region.

Ali was torn between two dreams, two paths, two destinies. He wanted to pursue his passion for flying, but he also wanted to continue his family's legacy. He wondered if he could ever have both, or if he had to choose one over …

The Last Pari

hamed Jan. 19, 2025, 5:48 p.m.

The narrow alley off Tehran’s bustling Valiasr Street smelled of roasting chestnuts and damp stone. Beneath a flickering neon sign, an elderly woman sat cross-legged by her modest cart. She wore a faded chador, her hands delicate as she polished tiny glass bottles that glimmered like trapped rainbows. A crooked wooden sign hung from the cart:

"For wishes you didn’t know you needed."

Most passersby barely noticed her. Those who did usually smirked, muttering about old superstitions. But not Leila.

Leila was late for her shift at the hospital, her worn sneakers slapping against the pavement, but something about the woman made her stop. Maybe it was the faint scent of roses that seemed to hang in the air around her, cutting through the diesel fumes. Or maybe it was the way the woman’s eyes—strangely bright for someone so old—seemed to meet hers as though she’d been waiting.

“Do you …

Dangerously Cold Wind Chill Challenge

hamed Jan. 22, 2025, 9:16 p.m.

Lenny had never been one to shy away from a challenge. So when he saw the weather forecast that morning—“Wind chill advisory: Dangerous conditions. Stay indoors if possible.”—he saw nothing but opportunity. He pulled out his phone and posted a quick video to his friends:

"Alright, folks, it’s -30°F outside, and I’m going to survive it with nothing but my wits and a little bit of creativity. This is the Dangerously Cold Wind Chill Challenge!"

The first step was obvious: bundle up. But Lenny, being Lenny, decided that regular winter gear was for amateurs. He donned four pairs of socks—three on one foot, because why not? He wrapped his body in every single blanket in his apartment, looking like a very frazzled, very overstuffed burrito. But that wasn’t nearly enough.

He grabbed a space heater and placed it next to him, cranking it up to its highest setting. The room …

Finding Hope Through Connection

hamed Jan. 27, 2025, 4:26 p.m.

Mira sat alone in her small apartment, staring at the blank canvas on her easel. She hadn’t painted in months, not since her younger sister, Ayla, passed away. Ayla had been her muse, her confidante, and, in many ways, her reason to create. Without her, Mira felt untethered, drifting between grief and a hollow kind of existence.

Her days blurred together, filled with the motions of life but devoid of meaning. Every interaction with her friends left her feeling smaller, overshadowed by their laughter and success. Mira avoided their calls now, unsure if it was out of resentment or shame.

One evening, Mira found herself scrolling through Ayla’s old social media account, revisiting their shared memories. Ayla had been the light of every room, radiating warmth and joy. Mira began to compare herself, questioning her worth. Why hadn’t she been the one with the charisma? Why did Ayla’s absence feel …

The White Div's Daughter

hamed Jan. 19, 2025, 5:44 p.m.

The cavern shimmered with frost, each crystal a fragile web of light. Shirin sat at the mouth of the cave, her pale hair spilling like moonlight down her back, her eyes fixed on the human camp far below. Smoke curled from their fires, faint against the starlit sky.

Her father’s voice boomed behind her, shaking the earth. “You’ve been staring at them again.”

Shirin didn’t flinch. “They’re fascinating,” she said softly, her voice like the wind threading through winter trees.

The White Div stepped into the moonlight, his massive frame cloaked in a mantle of snow and shadows. His eyes, as cold as glaciers, narrowed. “They are dangerous.”

“Perhaps,” Shirin replied, not looking away. “But they are also brave.”

“Bravery is the disguise of weakness,” her father growled. “Do not let their fires fool you. They will snuff out your light if you draw too close.”

Shirin said nothing, but …

The Divide

hamed Jan. 14, 2025, 4:37 p.m.

Lena had always lived with the hum of luxury in the background, like a soft, unspoken promise that her life would be smooth. Her father’s law firm sat at the top of the city’s skyline, a glittering tower she had grown up gazing at from her bedroom window. She’d never wanted for anything—private tutors, family vacations to Paris, summer internships lined up before she even knew what the word meant.

Today, she was staring at her reflection in a sleek glass door of a downtown office building, checking her makeup one last time. The job interview was for a junior position at one of the country’s top consulting firms. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was a stepping stone. The kind of thing that would look impressive on her resume, the kind of thing that would keep her on the path that had already been paved for her.

Across town, Malik …

The Last Delivery

hamed Jan. 20, 2025, 4:11 p.m.

The warehouse hummed with the sound of drones, their metallic wings buzzing as they zipped off into the sky. Nathan sat at his console, staring at the blinking prompt on the screen: "Begin final manual delivery?"

Tomorrow, the drones would handle it all—no pilots, no human touch. Nathan's job would be gone, replaced by algorithms and efficiency metrics. But today, he still had control.

He scanned the address: 142 Balsam Street. The package was small, light. "Garden seeds," the manifest said.

He activated the drone, taking manual control for the last time. Through his headset, the world shrank to the drone’s camera feed.

Balsam Street was quiet, the kind of street where time seemed to slow. The drone hovered above a modest brick house with a weathered front porch. Nathan lowered it carefully to the doorstep, watching as the delivery notification chimed.

But before he could pull back, the door …

infinity.

ziamaiko Dec. 27, 2023, 9:29 a.m.

زیباترین آدم‌هایی که تا کنون شناخته بودم، آنهایی بودند که شکست خورده بودند. رنج می‌کردند. دچار فقدان بودند و با این‌حال راه خود را از اعماق درد و رنج گشودند و بیرون آمدند.
این افراد، یک حسی از قدردانی، حساسیت و فهم زندگی داشتند که آن‌ها را پر از شفقت، ملایمت و توجه عمیق و عاشقانه می‌کرد.
زیبایی این افراد، اتفاقی و بی‌سبب نبود.
و حال هرچقدر هم که او تلاش می‌کرد نشان دهد هیچ‌کدام از سختی‌هایی که کشیده برایش چیزی نبوده و قوی‌تر از این حرف‌هاست، اون گذر کرده. او مشقت‌ها را گذرانده و من با تمام وجود عارفانه و عاشقانه می‌پرستمش.
یعنی عشقی عارفانه.
«وقتی برای اولین‌بار تونستی روی پاهات راه بری رو یادت می‌آد؟ نه نمی‌آد. اما لوفی خوب یادشه. چون اون عشق بود. هر طرف ما پر از عشقه و ما بازم عین احمقا توی کوچه و خیابون دنبالش می‌گردیم. بعضی‌ وقتاهم، عشق یعنی رها کردن، آیکو. می‌دونم خنده‌داره اما …

The ChatGPT Cure

hamed Jan. 23, 2025, 6:47 p.m.

Karen had never been a fan of going to the doctor. The waiting rooms, the endless paperwork, the awkward small talk with the receptionist—no, thank you. So when she started feeling sick one Tuesday, her first instinct wasn’t to call her physician. It was to ask ChatGPT.

She sat down on the couch, wrapped in a blanket like a burrito, and opened her laptop. “ChatGPT,” she typed, “I have a headache, fever, and a strange rash on my left elbow. What do I have?”

Within seconds, the AI responded: It could be a number of things, but based on your symptoms, it seems likely you have a rare but serious condition called ‘Acute Rashitis.’ It's very uncommon, but it can lead to complications. Please seek immediate medical attention.

Karen stared at the screen. Rare but serious? She frowned. Could it really be that serious? She was no doctor, but she …

Cybertruck Kaboom

hamed Jan. 23, 2025, 7:06 p.m.

The year had barely begun, and it was already off to a wild start. Outside the posh facade of the Starlight Regency Hotel, nestled in downtown Los Angeles, a gleaming Tesla Cybertruck idled loudly, drawing both admiration and skepticism from passersby. Its angular, alien design still turned heads, despite having been on the market for years.

The truck belonged to Marcus Stokes, a self-proclaimed tech influencer who had driven it cross-country to attend the "Tech Titans of Tomorrow" conference. His plan? Park it out front, blast techno remixes of Elon Musk interviews from its custom sound system, and bask in the glow of viral attention.

Unfortunately for Marcus, the Cybertruck had other ideas.

It started with a low hum—subtle, almost soothing. Pedestrians nearby paused to gawk, thinking the truck’s experimental solar panels were about to deploy some kind of futuristic transformation. Then came the thud. Not loud enough to cause …