Flash Stories

The Simorgh’s Feather

hamed Jan. 19, 2025, 5:23 p.m.

Arya sat in his cramped studio apartment, staring at the blank canvas that mocked him from across the room. A half-empty cup of cold tea sat beside crumpled sketches and a paintbrush caked with dried blue paint. For months, the ideas had stopped coming. He felt hollow, like a bird with clipped wings.

"Why bother?" he muttered, slumping back into his chair. He hadn’t sold a painting in over a year. His dreams of exhibitions and acclaim felt as distant as the stars he used to paint in his childhood landscapes.

That night, as he lay in bed tossing and turning, a sharp sound startled him awake. The clink of glass breaking. Arya sat up, heart pounding, and turned on the dim bedside lamp. The window was open, though he was sure he had closed it.

On the floor lay a feather.

It shimmered faintly in the light, shifting colors …

The Last Garden

hamed Feb. 16, 2024, 11:40 a.m.

She had never seen a real flower. Only in the faded pictures and hazy videos buried in her grandfather's dusty library. He would speak softly of the world as it once was—a place pulsing with color, life, and the comforting sounds of animals that roamed the lands, the skies, the seas. He spoke of people digging their hands into rich soil to grow food, of laughter shared in warm sunlight, and nights filled with starlight. He called it paradise. That paradise, he said, had vanished—erased by wars, plagues, and the relentless march of climate change.

Now, only humans remained, fed by artificial food churned out by machines. The sky hung heavy with smog, rivers ran dark with toxins, and the earth lay desolate. Gone was the beauty, the promise, the hope.

Yet she had a secret, a fragile glimmer of life she kept hidden from the sterile monotony around her. …

The Last Game

hamed Jan. 26, 2024, 7:36 p.m.

The Last Game

She had one game left. She had played all the others, and she had mastered them. She had conquered every level, every challenge, every enemy. She had collected every trophy, every achievement, every reward. She had become the best gamer in the world.

She downloaded the last game, the one that everyone was talking about. The one that claimed to be the ultimate gaming experience. The one that promised to change her life.

She installed the game, and launched it. She created her character, and entered the game world. She saw a beautiful landscape, full of wonders and dangers. She heard a voice, welcoming her to the game.

She was ready. She grabbed her controller, and started playing.

She never stopped!

The Contrast

hamed Jan. 14, 2025, 5:09 p.m.

It was 9:00 a.m. when Olivia’s Zoom screen flickered to life, revealing her well-lit office corner, complete with a potted plant in the background. She smiled, adjusting her headset as she settled into her ergonomic chair. The company’s quarterly meeting was about to begin, and she was ready—after all, this was the kind of work she had dreamed of when she graduated. Remote, flexible, well-compensated. She checked her emails while waiting for the others to join, juggling deadlines for multiple high-paying contracts, all from the comfort of her minimalist apartment in the city.

A ping interrupted her thoughts. It was a reminder about her call with the client in California, the one that had promised to double her rate if she could help them build a marketing campaign for a new AI product. Olivia grinned. Opportunities were endless in this new economy. She had a digital assistant to handle her …

The Memory Thief

hamed Jan. 26, 2024, 7:09 p.m.

She had always been plagued by strange memories. Memories of places she had never been, people she had never met, things she had never done. She thought she was crazy, or maybe she had a past life.

She tried to ignore them, but they kept coming back, more vivid and more frequent. They interfered with her daily life, her studies, her relationships. She felt like she was living someone else's life.

She decided to seek help. She went to a therapist, a hypnotist, a psychic. None of them could explain her condition or cure her. They only gave her vague theories and false hopes.

She was desperate. She wanted to know the truth. She wanted to be free.

She stumbled upon an article online. It was about a new scientific discovery. It claimed that our body is made of materials that once belonged to other living beings, and that these …

The Secret

hamed Jan. 15, 2024, 4:39 p.m.

David felt a surge of panic as he heard Sarah's footsteps approaching the bedroom. He quickly turned off the light and pretended to be asleep, hoping that she would leave him alone.

He knew that she wanted to be intimate with him, to feel his touch, his kiss, his embrace. He knew that she deserved it, that she was a loving and faithful wife, and that he was a lucky man to have her.

But he couldn't do it. He couldn't bring himself to be intimate with her, or with anyone. He couldn't overcome the fear that gripped his heart, the fear that stemmed from a dark secret, a secret that he had kept hidden for years.

David was a victim of childhood abuse. When he was a young boy, he had suffered at the hands of an older neighbor, who had violated him in unspeakable ways. The memories of …

They loved each other still

dehongi Jan. 2, 2024, 6:53 p.m.

She had lost everything for him. Her family, her friends, her career, her dreams. She followed him across the world, supporting his ambitions, sharing his joys and sorrows, loving him unconditionally.

She thought they would grow old together, happy and content. She thought they had a bond that nothing could break. She thought she was the luckiest woman alive.

She was right.

He never left her, not even when he was diagnosed with a terminal illness, not even when he was in pain and suffering, not even when he had nothing left to give. He loved her with everything he had, everything he was, everything he could. He gave her his all.

She stayed with him, through thick and thin, through good and bad, through life and death. She cared for him, comforted him, cherished him. She gave him her all.

They spent their days in a small, cozy cottage, …

The Great AI Bake-Off

hamed Jan. 8, 2025, 7:46 p.m.

In the digital realm where tweets flew like breadcrumbs, there was a new culinary craze sweeping across X (formerly Twitter). It was the era of the AI Bake-Off, where artificial intelligence algorithms were not just writing code but now attempting to bake the perfect cake.

The stage was set in the virtual kitchen of CloudBakers, an innovative tech startup that decided to merge the worlds of AI and gastronomy. The star of the show was Chef AI, an algorithm trained on thousands of recipes, culinary videos, and cooking blogs.

The day of the competition arrived, and Chef AI was to face off against Chef Human, a renowned baker with hands that had kneaded more dough than lines of code Chef AI had processed. The challenge? To bake a vegan chocolate cake that would make even the most hardcore carnivore's mouth water.

Chef AI started with all the confidence of …

Country Grammar and Crossed Lines

hamed Jan. 24, 2025, 6:47 p.m.

Nelly adjusted the brim of his cap, his eyes scanning the packed arena. The stage lights pulsed to the beat of his opening track, and the crowd roared as the first notes of Hot in Herre boomed through the speakers. But this wasn’t just any crowd. This was the inaugural ball for Donald Trump, and the weight of that decision hung heavy in the air.

He’d heard the backlash before he even stepped foot on stage. Social media had erupted the moment the announcement was made: “Nelly sold out!” “How could he perform for him?” The tweets burned like wildfire, some pleading for an explanation, others dismissing him as a traitor to his roots.

But here he was. On stage. Performing.

As the final chorus ended, Nelly grabbed the mic, the cheers fading into an uneasy murmur. He looked out into the sea of faces—supporters, critics, journalists, all waiting for …

The Weight of Days

hamed Jan. 12, 2025, 5:11 p.m.

Marcus stared at his reflection in the coffee shop window, barely recognizing the man looking back at him. Three months unemployed had left dark circles under his eyes and a permanent slouch in his shoulders. His severance pay was running thin, and each rejected application felt like another brick added to the weight he carried.

He pushed open the door, the bell's cheerful tingle a mockery of his mood. All he wanted was the cheapest coffee they had—a small luxury he still allowed himself.

"Marcus? Marcus Chen, is that you?"

The voice cut through the coffee shop's ambient chatter. Marcus turned to find David Torres, his old college roommate, rising from a corner table. They hadn't spoken in what—five, six years?

David's smile was exactly as Marcus remembered it: wide, genuine, brightening his entire face. "Man, what are the odds? Sit with me!"

Before Marcus could make an excuse, David …