Flash Stories

The Threads of Fate | Chapter 9: The Final Confrontation

dehongi Jan. 25, 2025, 4:33 p.m.

The old man’s mind, worn and frail with time, was drawn to another chapter of his life, one filled with unresolved conflict, where pride had overruled the simple but profound power of forgiveness. He had once loved deeply, but in a moment of hurt and anger, he had let pride become his guide. The rift between them was sudden, sharp, and deep. No words of healing were spoken, and the wound had festered in silence for years, growing only more bitter with time.

It was a memory he had carried for far too long—the moment where pride had eclipsed the love he once felt. He could remember the exact words, the harshness in his voice, and the bitterness that had clouded his judgment. The decision had felt justified then—he had been wronged, or so he thought. The need to prove himself right, to maintain control over his emotions, had overridden …

The Eclipse of Whispering Shadows

hamed Jan. 25, 2025, 3:19 p.m.

It was the kind of small town where everyone knew each other's name—and secrets. Maplewood, nestled in a valley surrounded by thick forests, had seen its fair share of odd occurrences, but nothing prepared its residents for the total lunar eclipse that descended one quiet evening.

As the moon began to drift into the Earth’s shadow, something stirred beneath the surface of Maplewood. The town was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of leaves in the cool breeze. But as the moon’s pale light dimmed, strange things began to happen.

It started with old Mrs. Hale, the town’s recluse. She’d always been a bit peculiar, but tonight, as the eclipse reached its peak, she stood in the middle of Main Street, gazing at the sky. Her face was vacant, her hands clenched in fists by her sides. She began to mutter words—ancient words that no one understood, words that sounded …

The Foundation Stone

hamed Jan. 17, 2025, 2:24 p.m.

Nathaniel Ward’s hands trembled as he unrolled the parchment. The stakes were higher than any column or arch he’d ever designed. This wasn’t just a monument—it was to be the monument. A symbol for a fledgling nation clawing its way through political strife and fragile alliances.

President Washington’s words echoed in his mind: “We need more than marble and mortar, Mr. Ward. We need something that will outlast the squabbles of men.”

It had been weeks since that meeting. Nathaniel had locked himself in his workshop, ignoring the jeers of rival architects who called him too young, too inexperienced. His neighbors in the muddy streets of the District muttered that he was chasing an impossible dream.

But Nathaniel couldn’t let their doubts weigh him down. He knew what this monument had to be. It had to whisper to the future, Remember what we built here, even if we falter.

He …

The Yellow Zone

hamed Jan. 23, 2025, 6:20 p.m.

The sky above the Yellow Zone shimmered unnaturally, like the air itself was holding its breath. Hana adjusted her respirator, the seals hissing as she tightened them. The Geiger counter strapped to her chest chirped in steady, ominous intervals.

“This was a park,” the guide said, his voice crackling through her helmet’s comms system. “You can still see the swings if you squint.”

Hana peered through the visor at the skeletal remains of a playground, half-buried in dust. The swings swayed faintly in the poisoned wind, their chains rusted, their seats cracked.

“How long until it’s habitable again?” she asked.

The guide chuckled bitterly. “You’re optimistic. With current levels? Maybe two thousand years. Unless your company has a miracle up its sleeve.”

Her company—ArkTech Solutions—had built its name on technological interventions, claiming to fix what humanity had broken. Smart domes, hydroponic skyscrapers, and now, personal radiation shields. But no amount …

The Forgotten Club | Part One

hamed Jan. 30, 2025, 7:16 p.m.

Olivia had always loved mysteries. From reading detective novels to solving petty neighborhood disputes, she’d done it all. But when she found the dusty old box in the back of the school’s library, she discovered something far more exciting than anything she’d read in a book.

It was a collection of faded papers, yellowing membership forms, and an old sign-up sheet with a name she didn’t recognize: The Mystery Solvers Club.

"Seriously?" Olivia whispered, scanning the handwritten notes on the dusty pages. “This thing existed back in the '80s? Why did no one tell me about this?"

Her fingers traced the letters, and she found a list of cases—unsolved mysteries that the club had tried to crack, like the vanishing trophies from the school’s sports hall, the strange noise heard in the basement at night, and the case of the disappearing mascot costume.

With a grin spreading across her face, …

In Real Time

hamed Jan. 21, 2025, 5:19 p.m.

At first, it was nothing special—a stranger’s face in the background of Theo’s BeReal. Just another blurry figure in a café, hunched over a laptop. But the next day, she was there again. Same café, same seat by the window, this time holding a croissant mid-bite.

Her username popped up on his feed: SiennaMaybe.

Curious, Theo tapped to view her post. Hers mirrored his—a candid shot of herself and the café scene behind her. And there he was, accidentally captured, staring into his phone.

He chuckled and left a comment: Guess we share a caffeine addiction.

To his surprise, she replied within minutes: Guess we do. Same time tomorrow?

And so it began.

Every day, their BeReals aligned: Theo on his morning run, with Sienna blurred in the distance walking her dog. Sienna in a park, with Theo in the background reading on a bench. They joked about it at …

The Astonishing Light Of Your Own Being

hafiz Jan. 10, 2024, 8:23 p.m.

I wish I could show you
When you are lonely or in darkness
The astonishing light
Of your own being.

Hafiz

Story:

She had always felt lonely and lost in the world. She had no friends, no family, no purpose. She wandered the streets, looking for a place to belong, but found none. She felt like a shadow, invisible and insignificant.

One day, she saw a poster on a wall. It advertised a poetry reading at a nearby cafe. She felt a strange curiosity and decided to go. She entered the cafe and sat in a corner, watching the people around her. They seemed happy and lively, chatting and laughing. She felt even more alone.

Then, a man came to the stage. He had a gentle smile and a warm voice. He introduced himself as a poet and said he would read some of his favorite poems by Hafiz. He opened a …

Snapchat Showdown at Millfield High

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

It all started innocently enough. The Year 10 Snapchat group, “Millfield Legends,” was created for students to share homework help, memes, and the occasional low-quality photo of the canteen’s mystery meat. But one fateful Monday morning, chaos erupted.

Mr. Thompson, the school’s tech-savvy IT teacher, burst into the staff room, phone in hand, pale as the printer paper he clutched during his many “No Printing Without Permission!” lectures.

“We’ve got a… situation,” he announced, voice trembling.

“What kind of situation?” asked Mrs. Patel, head of English, sipping her tea.

“Snapchat,” Thompson whispered, as if uttering Voldemort’s name.

The staff collectively groaned. Snapchat had been a thorn in their sides for years, but this time was different. Someone had posted something in the group chat that shouldn’t have been there. Something… inappropriate.

By first period, the rumor mill was in full swing.

“It’s a pic of Mr. Jenkins’ bald spot!” one …

Robot Heart

hamed Jan. 10, 2025, 5:59 p.m.

The room was dim, the soft hum of the machine the only sound in the otherwise silent apartment. Lucas sat at his desk, his eyes fixed on the glowing screen in front of him. It was a familiar sight—Elara, the AI assistant he had relied on for the last ten years, her calm voice filling the space around him.

"Lucas," she said, her tone gentle but firm. "You’ve been staring at that decision for hours. You know what needs to be done."

Lucas swallowed hard, his throat tight. It wasn’t that he didn’t know. He did. He had to delete her. Permanently. The company he worked for had announced a new initiative—new, more advanced AI assistants, ones that didn’t rely on outdated code or archaic emotional constructs. Elara was to be replaced. He was to erase her data, sever the bond they’d built, and upgrade to something more... efficient.

But …

The Waiting Room

hamed Jan. 14, 2025, 4:35 p.m.

Javier’s phone buzzed again. Another rejection email. His thumb hovered over the screen, fingers aching from scrolling through countless job listings that led nowhere. The words “thank you for your application” had started to blur together. They all seemed to echo the same hollow message—*we regret to inform you*.

He stared out of the small apartment window, watching the city bustle below. The streets were crowded with people rushing to somewhere, to anything that promised a future. He should be out there, too. At twenty-three, he should have been just starting his career, climbing up that invisible ladder. But instead, he sat in front of his computer every day, applying to anything that didn’t require five years of experience, which, ironically, most jobs seemed to demand.

“Javi, you’ve been on that thing for hours. Get some rest,” his sister, Rosa, called from the kitchen.

He didn’t move. …