Flash Stories

The Betrayal

dehongi Jan. 6, 2024, 12:25 p.m.

The Betrayal

Tom and Lisa walked home from school, their backpacks heavy with books. Tom had a list of groceries to buy for their mother, who had given him some money in the morning. Lisa, his younger sister, had a different idea.

"Tom, can we buy some ice cream? Please, please, please!" she begged, pointing at the frozen treats in the store window.

"Lisa, we don't have enough money for that. We have to buy the things on the list. Mom will be mad if we don't," Tom said, trying to be responsible.

"But I really want some ice cream. It's so hot today. And you love ice cream too, don't you?" Lisa said, batting her eyelashes.

Tom sighed. He did love ice cream, but he also wanted to do the right thing. He looked at the list and the money in his hand. Maybe he could buy a cheaper …

Threads of Solidarity

hamed Jan. 21, 2025, 5:25 p.m.

Amara first noticed Kian when he retweeted her post about the winter coat drive.

"We could use more boots and blankets," he’d added, along with a photo of his tiny apartment filled with neatly stacked donation boxes. She messaged him immediately.

"You’re in Eastside? We should coordinate. I’m running a food distribution project there."

Kian replied within minutes: "Absolutely. Let’s build something big."

They started collaborating: Amara’s Google Sheets full of volunteer schedules and grocery runs meshed perfectly with Kian’s knack for finding free storage spaces and rallying donors. Their late-night planning sessions—first over DM, then Zoom—blurred the line between work and connection.

“Why do you do this?” Amara asked one night, after hours spent brainstorming for a mobile health clinic.

Kian hesitated, then smiled shyly. “I guess… I want to be the kind of person I needed when I was younger.”

Amara felt her chest tighten. “Same,” she said …

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 Exchange

hamed Jan. 26, 2025, 4:52 p.m.

Amal sat on the worn cushion by the window, her hands trembling as they twisted the edges of her headscarf. Outside, the village hummed with an uneasy tension, its narrow streets alive with whispers of the deal. “Two hundred of ours,” the grocer had muttered that morning, “for four of theirs.”

Her heart thudded against her ribs like a trapped bird. Somewhere, her son Omar—her boy who had been nineteen when he was taken—might be standing in a sunlit yard, his wrists still raw from the chains. Or maybe he wasn’t. The thought stung like a needle.

She traced the lines of her palm absently, as if the answer might be etched there. Omar had been the eldest, her rock. She remembered the summer evenings when he’d taught his little brothers to kick a soccer ball in the dusty yard, his laughter carrying over the sound of distant gunfire.

It …

One Thousand Demons

hamed Jan. 19, 2025, 5:38 p.m.

In the dusty glow of the weaving room, Mina ran her fingers over the half-finished carpet. The air smelled of wool and dye, a familiar comfort in her family’s workshop. The intricate pattern shimmered under the light—a labyrinth of vines and symbols that had been passed down for generations.

Her grandfather’s voice echoed in her mind: “Each thread, each knot, has a purpose. The pattern isn’t just for beauty—it’s a story, a shield.” As a child, she’d thought it was just superstition, the way her family whispered prayers as they worked. Now, at 19, it felt like a relic of a past too distant to matter.

But that changed the night she found the letter.

Hidden inside an old wooden loom was a brittle parchment covered in delicate Persian script. Mina held it carefully, reading by the dim light of an oil lamp. The words spoke of King Solomon’s divs—demons …

dread.

ziamaiko Jan. 12, 2024, 5:22 p.m.

he was a ruthless killer. a killer who kills others without touching them. he manipulated them.
he was walking on the roof of the tallest building in new York with his college friend.
«you're too smart you know? it's scary.» his friend said while laughing.
his eyes were cold as ice. he is scary indeed. he's too pretty to be scary. and it made him even more scarier.
his friends sigh. «ah.. i don't know if now is the time to say it or not. but i went to church every day and prayed. i talked to the priests. god, how can i forget my sins?»
«how weak the mind is when it wants to forget. it will never forget. maybe you just want to lie. lie to everyone around. lit to yourself.»
his friend eyes widened. he's standing right in front of him. and he's.. not like usual.
«i.. i just want my sins-»
«do you …

The Unexpected Guest

rumi Jan. 12, 2024, 6:53 p.m.

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

Be grateful for whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
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The Unexpected Guest

She was about to close the door when she saw him. A man in a tattered coat, holding a suitcase and a guitar. He had a beard that covered most of his face, and his eyes were weary and sad.

"Excuse me, miss," he said in a low voice. "I'm looking for a place to stay for the night. Do you …

The Red Line

hamed Jan. 22, 2025, 8:57 p.m.

Admiral Sarah Chen stared at the holographic display floating above her desk in Pearl Harbor. Red dots pulsed along the disputed maritime borders - each one representing a potential flashpoint between vessels. The Quad's latest warning to China had stirred up the hornet's nest, just as she'd predicted during the ministerial meeting last week.
Her wrist console buzzed. A message from Captain Rajesh from the Indian Navy: "Activity near the Andaman Sea. Three unmarked vessels crossed into international waters. Your thoughts?"

Sarah rubbed her temples. After thirty years of service, she'd learned to read between the lines of diplomatic speak. The Quad's statement had been firm but measured. China's response, predictably defiant. But it was these small provocations that worried her most - the kind that could spiral out of control before anyone could intervene.
Her screen lit up with another alert. A Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Force vessel was tracking suspicious movement …

The Curse of Love and Immortality - Chapter 4: The Melancholy of Elnaz

dehongi Jan. 16, 2025, 12:10 p.m.

The king sat in silence for a moment, gazing at the flickering candlelight as if seeing another time, another place. The princess waited, sensing the weight of the tale he was about to share.
“Tonight,” he began softly, “I will tell you of Elnaz, the Pari who fell in love with a poet. Her story is one of beauty and sorrow, of words that wove their way into her immortal heart.”
The princess’s brow furrowed. “A poet? Did he write of her?”
The king smiled faintly. “Not at first. Elnaz lived in a secluded valley, far from human eyes. Her days were spent wandering among fields of wildflowers, her heart untouched by the fleeting lives of mortals. But one day, she heard something that stopped her in her tracks—a voice, soft and rich, reciting verses that seemed to carry the weight of the stars. She followed the sound and found him.”
The princess leaned …

The Silence of Steel

hamed Jan. 25, 2025, 3:20 p.m.

The blackout hit without warning—no flicker, no sign of a storm. One moment, the world hummed with the steady pulse of technology, and the next, it was gone. Phones, computers, cars, lights—all of it, vanishing into a quiet void.

In the small city of Eldridge, it was the sudden cessation of sound that unsettled people the most. No hum of refrigerators, no buzz of overhead lights, no distant beeping of microwaves. Just the eerie stillness of a world disconnected.

At first, the reaction was disbelief. People gathered in the streets, pulling their phones from their pockets, only to find them dead. Cars stopped in the middle of intersections, drivers staring out of windshields, wondering why their engines refused to start. The familiar rhythm of life faltered, replaced by an uncomfortable void.

Sarah, a young journalist, felt the weight of the silence in her bones. The noise, the distractions, they had …