Flash Stories

The Boardroom Mirror

hamed Jan. 16, 2025, 5:16 p.m.

“Next on the agenda,” Marcus said, tapping his pen against the glossy table. “The DEI program.”

The room fell silent, save for the hum of the air conditioning. Amelia watched as her colleagues exchanged loaded glances, their expressions a blend of impatience and resistance. She could already hear the undercurrent of what they wouldn’t say out loud: Here we go again.

She cleared her throat. “As you all know, the Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion initiative is designed to address long-standing disparities within our workforce and—”

“Cost us millions,” interrupted Charles, the CFO, his voice dripping with irritation. “Look, Amelia, no one’s saying diversity isn’t important, but these mandatory trainings and hiring quotas are alienating our top performers.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room. Amelia’s hand tightened around her coffee cup.

“This isn’t about quotas,” she said, her voice steady but firm. “It’s about creating a workplace where everyone—regardless …

azriel is lost. again..

ziamaiko Jan. 12, 2024, 4:30 p.m.

i feel lost. everyone feels lost at times.
and now i do.
it's feels like.. i don't belong to nothing and nobody.
aky is not like me. he is the bearer of the word of freedom. he belongs to everything and everywhere.
sometimes i get too angry with him. he is very reckless. he always makes the stupidest decisions.
«i don't know if you have ever heard the word "future" or not.»
boundless happiness shines in his eyes. «yea.. zayn always say it.»
i sigh. «you should have goals. like i do. and try hard for them.»
«we can achieve it together.» he says, smiling innocently.
«i can do it myself.»
«but you'll reach your limits. i guess i did.»
«i have no limits.»
he frowns. and it's the first time i see aky like that. but still, he's so harmless. «at the end of the day, we have our friends! and they'll help me if i was tired.» he smiles again. …

The Last Filing Cabinet

hamed Jan. 14, 2025, 5:06 p.m.

Rose watched the maintenance crew wheel away the last filing cabinet, its metal drawers rattling like loose teeth. For thirty-two years, she'd known exactly which drawer held which files – third down, left side for active accounts; top right for special cases. Now everything lived in the cloud, a concept that still felt as intangible as morning fog.

"You'll love the new system," Trevor from IT had promised during training, his fingers dancing across the keyboard. "It's like having a thousand filing cabinets in your pocket." He'd smiled the way her grandson did when explaining TikTok – that particular blend of patience and mild amusement reserved for the digitally challenged.

The office looked strange now – all glass and screens, stripped of the paper trails that had once marked the passage of time. Her desk, once fortress-like with its walls of folders, felt exposed. The dual monitors reflected her face, …

The Hidden Voter

hamed Jan. 18, 2025, 6:16 p.m.

Elena stared at the screen, the edges of her vision blurred from hours of reviewing flagged posts. Election season was a minefield. The guidelines were clear—remove misinformation, allow healthy debate—but reality wasn’t so simple.

She hovered over a post: “The election is rigged. Don’t even bother voting.” It was a lie, but not quite explicit enough to violate policy. She marked it for review. The system wouldn’t thank her for hesitating.

Her phone buzzed on the desk. A text from her brother, Adrian: “You’re coming to Mom’s for dinner, right?”

She sighed, fingers hovering over her response. Family dinners had become battlegrounds lately. Adrian was all in for one candidate; their father was rabidly for the other. Last time, their argument nearly ended with a broken plate.

Another post popped up on her queue, this one from a fake account spewing hate speech disguised as satire. It wasn’t hard to …

From Shadows to Shine

hamed Jan. 22, 2025, 8:34 p.m.

In the cramped, dimly lit apartment she shared with her younger brother, Mia scrolled through her phone, the glow illuminating her tired face. The walls were thin, and the sound of rain tapping against the window mixed with the hum of the neighbor’s TV. Her brother, Sam, slept on the couch, his schoolbag slumped on the floor beside him. At 22, Mia had become his guardian after their parents passed away, and life had been a relentless cycle of odd jobs and unpaid bills.

One night, while scrolling through Instagram, Mia stumbled upon a post from a girl in another city. She was raving about a cute, affordable handbag she’d bought from a seller who sourced products directly from China. The comments were flooded with questions: “Where did you get this?” “How much was it?” “Do they ship fast?” Mia’s eyes widened as she realized the potential. She had always …

Higher Dimensions

dehongi Feb. 1, 2024, 8:09 a.m.

She was a human, and she lived in the third dimension. She was unaware of the existence of higher dimensions, where more intelligent species lived. She was happy with her life, or so she thought.

He was a zetan, and he lived in the fifth dimension. He was aware of the existence of lower dimensions, where less intelligent species lived. He was bored with his life, and he wanted some entertainment.

He found her, through a device that could scan and manipulate lower dimensions. He was fascinated by her, by her appearance, her emotions, her actions. He decided to play with her, to influence her, to experiment with her.

He changed her, without her knowing. He altered her memories, her feelings, her choices. He made her fall in love, he made her break up, he made her suffer. He enjoyed watching her, laughing at her, controlling her.

He broke her, …

The Seal’s Skin

hamed Jan. 20, 2025, 7:13 p.m.

Lena found it washed up on the beach after a violent storm—a seal skin, sleek and shimmering, its black-and-silver surface glinting like wet stone under the pale dawn. She hesitated to touch it, an inexplicable weight in the air pressing against her chest, but curiosity overcame her caution.

The moment her fingers brushed the skin, it seemed to ripple, alive. A surge of cold shot through her, like plunging into icy water. Before she could drop it, the world tilted. Her legs buckled, her breath hitched, and when she looked down, her hands were no longer hands but sleek, flippered fins.

She screamed, or tried to, but the sound came out as a high-pitched bark that startled the gulls into flight. Panic clawed at her as the tide swept her up, pulling her into the sea’s embrace.

And then, silence.

Beneath the waves, everything changed. The water was not a …

The First Hundred Days

hamed Jan. 18, 2025, 4:16 p.m.

When President Everson swore in, they called it The Great Reset.

Lila felt the change before the news anchors could finish their glowing reports. Her bus pass, once free under the old administration, was suddenly invalid. A sleek new kiosk demanded payment. "Credit only," it chirped. Lila sighed and swiped, watching half her grocery budget vanish in seconds.

At work, her boss handed her a packet labeled Employee Reclassification. Inside, she found her new status: Independent Contractor. Benefits? Gone. Hours? "Flexible."

“Adapt or be left behind,” Everson had declared during the campaign, smiling into the cameras. Lila hadn’t voted for him, but it didn’t matter now. His face was everywhere—billboards, TV, even on the new government app that citizens were "strongly encouraged" to download.

The app sent push notifications every hour: "Report your productivity! How are you contributing to the nation’s growth today?" Lila dismissed them at first, until her …

Numbers Don't Lie

hamed Jan. 12, 2025, 5:36 p.m.

Numbers Don't Lie

Adnan's screens flickered with red numbers as the lira fell another twelve percent. His trading desk at First Capital Bank, usually bustling with energy, had grown eerily quiet. Everyone was watching their own cascading displays, running their own calculations, making their own choices.

His phone buzzed: a message from Zhang at Goldman. "Position still open. Window closing. Decision needed within hour."

Adnan's fingers hovered over his keyboard. The trade was perfectly legal—a massive short position against his own country's currency. He'd make enough to buy his parents a house in London, get his sister into Harvard. The money would be safely in dollars before the worst hit.

But he thought of his father's small textile factory, of the workers who'd been there since Adnan was a boy. They'd be the ones who'd suffer when the currency collapsed. Their savings would evaporate, their jobs would vanish as imported …

The Frostling

hamed Jan. 20, 2025, 3:45 p.m.

The city shimmered under the unrelenting sun. Streets blurred in the heat, and the news warned that this heatwave could crack asphalt and patience alike. On her rooftop garden, Amara watered the last survivors—her tomatoes sagged, her basil drooped, and her lettuce had bolted weeks ago. The air was thick and still, offering no reprieve.

As she turned to leave, a chill kissed her bare arm. She froze, heart skipping. A chill?

Her eyes darted to the far corner of the garden, a space she hadn’t checked in days. Nestled between the dried husks of parsley was a peculiar plant, its leaves coated in a delicate frost. Its tendrils seemed to pulse faintly, a mist curling from the icy surface like a sigh of winter.

Amara crouched, hesitating before brushing her fingers against a frosted leaf. It was cold—unnaturally so. The temperature around it dropped sharply, and she gasped as …