Flash Stories

Ticket to Tomorrow

hamed Jan. 17, 2025, 2:03 p.m.

The announcement crackled through the town square speakers, distorted but unmistakable: "The final departure is in 72 hours. Lottery winners must report to the launch site immediately. No exceptions."

Mara gripped her son Leo’s hand tighter, feeling his small fingers trembling in hers. She tried to keep her expression neutral, but the fear was a beast clawing at her chest. They hadn’t won the lottery. She’d checked the numbers three times.

The line to the town’s lottery office stretched around the block, desperate faces all seeking miracles. Mara didn’t bother joining it. There were no miracles left. Only moves to make.

She slipped into an alley, pulling out the card she’d stolen from her employer two weeks ago: an access badge to the facility where lottery entries were processed. She hadn’t planned on using it—she told herself she’d find another way—but time was out, and so were her choices.

"Stay …

Arash the Archer

hamed Dec. 24, 2024, 6:05 p.m.

In a time long past, where the mountains kissed the skies, and the rivers sang songs of legends, there stood the mighty kingdom of Parsa. This kingdom was renowned for its valorous knights and wise rulers, its tales etched in the annals of time by none other than the venerable poet, Ferdowsi.

Among the tales of Parsa, the story of Arash, the swift archer, was one that echoed through the ages. The land was under the ominous shadow of war. The neighboring realm of Turan, coveting Parsa's fertile lands, had declared war. The battle raged for months, leaving fields scorched and rivers red.

Desperate for peace, the rulers of both kingdoms sought a resolution. It was decreed that the new boundary would be set by the furthest arrow shot from the peak of Mount Damavand. Parsa's hope lay in Arash, a humble yet legendary archer, whose arrows were said to …

Sacrifice

hamed Jan. 15, 2024, 6:24 p.m.

Adam was only twelve years old when his father left them. He still remembered the day he came home from school and found his mother crying on the couch, holding a note that said "I'm sorry, I can't do this anymore".

He didn't understand what it meant, but he felt a coldness in his chest, a sense of loss and betrayal. He hugged his mother, and tried to comfort her. He looked at his two younger sisters, who were six and four, and saw the fear and confusion in their eyes.

He knew that he had to be strong, that he had to take care of them. He knew that he had to be the man of the house, that he had to fill the void his father had left.

He started working after school, doing odd jobs for the neighbors, delivering newspapers, mowing lawns. He gave all his earnings …

Life is Short

khayam Jan. 27, 2024, 8:42 a.m.

افسوس که نامه جوانی طی شد
و آن تازه بهار زندگانی دی شد

آن مرغ طرب که نام او بود شباب
افسوس ندانم که کی آمد کی شد

Alas, the letter of youth passed
And that fresh spring life became winter

That singing bird whose name was youth
Alas, I don't know when it came, when left

The Reunion

Mina looked at the mirror and sighed. She saw wrinkles, gray hair, and sagging skin. She felt old and tired. She wondered where the time had gone.

She remembered her high school days, when she was young and beautiful. When she had dreams and hopes. When she had friends and lovers. When she was happy and free.

She remembered the letter she had received a few days ago. It was an invitation to her high school reunion. She had not seen her classmates for 30 years. She wondered how they had changed. She wondered if …

The Weight of Choices

hamed Jan. 10, 2025, 6:15 p.m.

Lena stood in the bustling airport terminal, the hum of departing flights a backdrop to her hurried thoughts. She had just returned from a business trip, her mind tangled with deadlines and unanswered emails. Grabbing her suitcase from the baggage claim, she didn’t think twice. It was black, like hers, the same size, the same worn handle from years of travel. She hoisted it onto the trolley and headed to the exit.

It wasn’t until she arrived at home, the evening sun casting long shadows over her apartment, that she realized the mistake. The suitcase wasn’t hers. Her stomach tightened. The zipper, usually stiff, was looser on this one, the fabric slightly worn in places. She opened it, expecting clothes, maybe toiletries. Instead, she found something far more disconcerting.

The first thing that caught her eye was a framed photograph, slightly smudged from travel. A young couple, arms around each …

The Echoes of Time

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 6:20 p.m.

It was the kind of discovery that made the air thick with anticipation, the kind of moment when history itself seemed to hold its breath. Dr. Layla Hassan stood in the half-lit tomb, her fingers trembling slightly as she traced the edges of the ancient stone carvings on the wall. The symbols were foreign to her at first glance, their meanings tangled in the mists of centuries, but the shape of them—so familiar, so deliberate—told her everything she needed to know.

This was not just another tomb. This was something far more significant.

"We’ve found it," she whispered, barely believing the words that escaped her lips.

Her colleague, Dr. Omar Khalil, stepped forward, his face ashen with awe. His eyes scanned the walls, following her gaze, then locking on the pharaoh’s name that appeared carved in a cartouche.

"That can’t be right," he murmured, his voice cracking with disbelief. "That’s… …

Maybe It's a Grave

hafiz Feb. 5, 2024, 4:43 p.m.

من مست و تو دیوانه، ما را که برد خانه؟
من چند تو را گفتم کم خور دو سه پیمانه؟

I am drunk and you are crazy, who took us home?
How much did I tell you to drink less, two or three cups?

Hafez

Story:

We were at the rooftop party, enjoying the music and the view. You had a glass of wine in your hand, and I had a bottle of beer. You looked at me with a mischievous smile and said, "Let's play a game. Every time the DJ changes the song, we drink."

I agreed, thinking it would be fun. But I didn't realize how fast the songs were changing, or how strong the drinks were. Soon, we were both feeling the effects of alcohol. You started to dance wildly, spinning and jumping around. I tried to keep up with you, but I felt dizzy and nauseous. I …

One Thousand Clay Birds

hamed Jan. 19, 2025, 6:26 p.m.

Aiko’s hands were raw, the tips of her fingers covered in the dust of clay. The studio, usually filled with the soft hum of life and color, had become her sanctuary of silence. Only the sound of the clay breaking as it fell into shape, then the rhythmic pressing of her thumb against each delicate wing, filled the space. She would hold each bird to the light, inspecting it for flaws, before setting it down to dry.

Her partner, Haruto, lay in the room across the hall, his body still, trapped in a coma that had lasted nearly a year. Doctors said there was no hope. They told her that it was a waiting game now, a matter of time before his body would give way. But Aiko refused to listen.

She believed in the old stories, the ones her grandmother had whispered to her when she was young. One …

Which is Life, Which is Dream

dehongi Jan. 2, 2024, 7:40 p.m.

He woke up with a start, his heart pounding in his chest. He looked around the dimly lit room, trying to remember where he was. He saw a woman sleeping next to him, her long hair covering her face. He felt a surge of affection for her, but also a pang of guilt. He had a wife and a son, waiting for him in another world.

He got out of bed and walked to the bathroom. He splashed some water on his face and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He had a scar on his left cheek, a souvenir from a car accident that nearly killed him. He wondered if it was still there in his other life, the one he visited every night in his dreams.

He had been dreaming of that life for as long as he could remember. It was a normal, boring life, with …

The Water Wars

hamed Jan. 10, 2025, 5:55 p.m.

The sun hung heavy in the sky, a merciless eye watching the land below. The river, once a lifeline, was now a trickle—a shadow of its former self. What remained of its waters had become more precious than gold, and the divide between the two communities on either bank had deepened into something unspoken, but understood.

Kara stood at the edge of the river, her hands clenched at her sides. Across the water, a group of men from the neighboring village gathered, their faces hard with suspicion and distrust. She could see them eyeing her, and she knew they saw the same thing in her: a representative of an enemy, someone who would do anything to take what little they had left.

"Talk to them," whispered Jamal, the elder of her community. His voice was rough, like stones grinding together. "If we don't, they'll come for the river. We can't …