Flash Stories

The Last War

hamed Feb. 7, 2024, 1:12 p.m.

The world was on the brink of the third world war. The countries were split into two rival factions. Their power was evenly matched and the war would be devastating and deadly.

They called it the last war. The war that would end all wars. The war that would finally bring peace and harmony to the world. The war that would unite humanity under one flag, one leader, one vision - the vision of the victor.

But the young people did not want to fight. They did not see the point of killing each other for the sake of old men's ambitions. They did not share the hatred and fear that their rulers had instilled in them. They did not believe in the propaganda and the lies that their media had fed them.

They had grown up with a different culture. A culture that transcended borders and boundaries. A culture …

Hollywood Whispers

hamed Jan. 27, 2025, 6:40 p.m.

The first whisper started in the corner of a smoky bar on Sunset Boulevard.

“You didn’t hear it from me,” the producer said, his voice low, his hand wrapped around a glass of bourbon. “But she’s leaving the franchise.”

The gossip slipped through the room like a shadow, hopping from one table to the next, morphing with every retelling. By the time it reached the first gossip columnist, the story had a name attached: Lena Clarke, the face of the billion-dollar Bloodfire Chronicles.

The internet caught fire.

#LenaLeaving trended within hours. Speculation swirled: a salary dispute, on-set drama, creative differences. A blurry photo surfaced of Lena leaving a director’s house late at night. Headlines screamed: Affair? Betrayal? The Real Reason Lena’s Out.

Lena’s silence was deafening.

Her co-star, Darren Vale, stoked the flames with a cryptic tweet: “Some people just can’t handle the heat. #Bloodfire”

The rumors mutated. Was she …

The Book Beneath the Pomegranate Tree

hamed Jan. 18, 2025, 6:52 p.m.

Lila had always loved the smell of old books. It was a scent she grew up with, the ink, the leather, and the parchment, all blending into something magical. Her father, the town librarian, would tell her stories about the books in the back of the library—the ones that weren’t checked out, the ones too fragile to touch. He always warned her not to go near them, but curiosity was in Lila’s blood, and it wasn’t long before she discovered the hidden section of the library where the rarest books were kept.

One evening, as the sky turned a dusky orange and the air was thick with summer heat, Lila sat under the pomegranate tree in her backyard, flipping through a leather-bound book she had found that afternoon. The pages were old and yellow, and the ink was fading, but the tales within were like nothing she had ever read. …

City Office Reopening Mayhem

hamed Jan. 22, 2025, 9:20 p.m.

The city office had been closed for months, and on the first day back, Marcy, the office manager, could already feel the tension building. The smell of stale coffee and forgotten paperwork lingered in the air as she walked in, greeting the lone janitor who was still attempting to mop around the rows of cubicles, clearly unsure if this was part of his duties.

"It's happening," Marcy muttered under her breath as she adjusted her glasses and glanced at the calendar on the wall, the one that still read March 2020. No one had bothered to update it during the lockdown. “The reopening. The revolution of bureaucracy.”

The first sign of impending chaos came when Roger, the IT guy, walked in with a box labeled "New Computers" and a look of terror in his eyes.

“I have no idea how these work. The cables are all tangled, and someone left …

The Last Note

hamed Jan. 22, 2025, 8:30 p.m.

When the news broke, Reza felt the air shift in the small Italian café where he worked as a dishwasher. Trump had won again. The chatter of locals turned uneasy, blending with the clatter of espresso cups and muttered curses in a language Reza still struggled to understand.

He didn’t care about politics—not really. His life had been simple once, back in Iran. But sanctions and whispers of war had turned simple into impossible, and Reza, like so many, left to chase a dream that felt like smoke in his hands.

That night, walking home in the drizzle, he felt the stares burn hotter than usual. “Foreigner,” a man hissed, shoving past him on the cobblestone street.

Reza’s heart sank. He knew what came next. He’d seen it the first time Trump rose to power—a surge of hate that bled across borders like spilled ink. Back then, he had hope. …

Wired Mind

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 4:20 p.m.

The procedure took six hours. When Ethan woke, his skull ached like a struck gong. The doctor smiled, holding a sleek tablet. “How do you feel?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he thought: Dim the lights. The room obeyed, bathing itself in a soft, amber glow.

“Your neural interface is working perfectly,” the doctor said, tapping on the tablet. “You’re the first human capable of directly interacting with technology through thought alone.”

Ethan didn’t respond. His mind was already buzzing, testing. He muted the hum of the air conditioner, locked and unlocked the door, and pinged a coffee machine down the hall to brew a fresh cup. The raw power was intoxicating.

Over the following weeks, his fame grew. Corporate executives vied for partnerships, and governments whispered offers behind closed doors. With a glance, Ethan could control drones, bypass firewalls, and even silence someone’s pacemaker.

But what truly unnerved him was …

A New Life Free From Addiction

hamed Jan. 16, 2024, 5:50 p.m.

The day he met Sarah, John almost didn't go to the support group. He had relapsed the night before, succumbing to the familiar urge that haunted him for years. He loathed himself, his addiction, his weakness. He wanted to hide, to escape, to disappear.

But something inside him pushed him to get up, to dress up, to show up. He had made a promise to himself, to his therapist, to his family. He had to fight, to heal, to change.

He arrived at the meeting room, feeling nervous and ashamed. He scanned the faces of the other addicts, looking for a friendly smile, a nod of recognition, a sign of hope. He saw none. He felt alone, isolated, hopeless.

He was about to turn around and leave, when he heard a voice.

"Hi, I'm Sarah. You must be new here."

He looked up and saw a woman standing in front …

Most People Don't Like the Journey, But the Destination

hamed Aug. 10, 2024, 1:04 p.m.

The studio lights bathed him in a warm glow, casting long shadows of success. The host, a seasoned pro with a practiced smile, leaned in. "You've built an empire from scratch. Who do you owe it to?"

The entrepreneur, a man of sharp wit and steely resolve, paused dramatically. "Well, there’s this whole world out there, teeming with people, you know? Investors, mentors, employees—the usual suspects. But let’s get real for a second.”

The audience chuckled, anticipating a juicy anecdote.

"In the darkest hours of my startup, I sent out a mass text. A cry for help, I guess. Most of them probably read it, thought, 'Poor guy,' and moved on. But a handful – and I mean handful – replied with a sticker. Or a thumbs up. No cash, no advice, just a digital pat on the back."

The audience was silent, then erupted in laughter.

"I know, it …

Encore

hamed Jan. 29, 2025, 6:15 p.m.

The crowd hummed with anticipation, a low murmur of disbelief and excitement. Ten years was a long time to disappear. Too long, some would say.

Backstage, Lyra Chase adjusted her mic, rolling her shoulders. Breathe. Don’t overthink it.

“Ready?” her manager asked.

She smirked. “Been ready.”

The lights dimmed. The stage pulsed with the opening beat—her beat. The same rhythm that once ruled the charts before the industry swallowed her whole. Before the contracts, the drama, the silence.

Lyra stepped forward, and the arena erupted.

Guess they didn’t forget me after all.

She hit the first note, her voice sharper, richer, more seasoned. Every lyric, every drop of attitude, dripped with experience. She wasn’t the teenage sensation they remembered. She was something better.

By the time the chorus hit, the crowd was chanting her name, fists in the air, phone screens glowing like a galaxy of second chances.

Lyra grinned. …