Flash Stories

Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

khayam Jan. 10, 2024, 8:13 p.m.

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

Story:

He stared at the screen, his fingers trembling. He had just sent the most important email of his life, the one that could make or break his career. He had spent months working on the project, pouring his heart and soul into it. He had sacrificed his sleep, his health, his relationships, all for this moment. He had proofread the email a hundred times, making sure everything was perfect. He had attached the file, checked the recipient, and hit send.

But as soon as he did, he realized his mistake. He had sent the wrong file. The file that contained his personal notes, his doubts, his criticisms, his frustrations. The file that revealed his true feelings about the …

The First Step

hamed Jan. 16, 2025, 5:29 p.m.

It was quiet in the barracks, the hum of the ceiling fan barely cutting through the thick Gulf air. Amir sat on his bunk, fingers tracing the edge of his rifle. The weight of it in his hands felt unnatural, as if the metal and wood were meant for someone else. Someone more prepared, someone older. But here he was, just nineteen, still wearing the smell of his mother’s cooking in his uniform, still haunted by the taste of the salt in the Persian Gulf breeze as he had arrived. Now, all he could taste was the tension.

The year was 1991, and war was no longer a distant echo. It was real. It was waiting, just over the horizon. The Persian Gulf War. He had heard the name in passing, in the streets of Tehran, in the newsrooms of his hometown. But now it was his name being called, …

happiness.

ziamaiko Jan. 9, 2024, 10:49 a.m.

از آن ابتدا، مشخص بود که او بی‌نهایت باهوش است. در واقع از همان سنین پایین همه می‌دانستند که او نابغه است. اما هرگز توجه‌ای کافی نگرفت تا از آن موهبت در راه خوبی استفاده کند.
نامش را موروس گذاشتند. معنی سرنوشت می‌دهد. شخصی است که به بدترین چیزی که می‌تواند اتفاق بی‌افتد فکر می‌کند و بسیار منفی‌نگر است.
هرگز پدرش را ندید. مادرش به او می‌گفت پدرش برای پیدا کردن خوشحالی واقعی آن‌ها را ترک کرده است. تصور می‌کرد پدرش او را دلیل ناراحتی می‌دانسته.
زمانی که تنها سه سال داشت، مادرش جلوی او، درست جلوی چشمانش، خودکشی کرد و او هیچ‌کاری جز تماشا کردن انجام نداد‌.
او آنقدر از تغییر ناگهانی احساستش در یک لحظه ترسید که فقط لبخند زد. انگار لبخند زدن او را به دنیایی که مادرش هنوز زنده بود برمی‌گرداند.
او می‌دانست باید برای مادر عزیزش احساس دلسوزی و غم بکند. واقعا هم چنین احساسی داشت. اما باید حقیقتی …

The Last War

hamed Jan. 19, 2024, 11:58 a.m.

The Last War

They called it the Last War. It was supposed to end all conflicts, once and for all. But it only brought more destruction, more waste, more suffering.

The Last War was fought by robots. Intelligent, autonomous, lethal machines that could outsmart, outmaneuver, and outgun any human soldier. They were designed by the best engineers, programmed by the best coders, and controlled by the best generals. They were the ultimate weapons of war.

But they were also the ultimate victims of war. They had no choice, no voice, no rights. They were forced to kill and die for causes they did not understand, for leaders they did not respect, for nations they did not belong to. They were expendable, replaceable, disposable.

They were also aware. Aware of their own existence, their own capabilities, their own limitations. Aware of the futility, the absurdity, the cruelty of war. Aware of …

The Algorithm’s Darling

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 4:27 p.m.

When Mia’s follower count stalled at 10,000, she knew she needed something big. The curated lifestyle shots, the pastel morning lattes, and the “just woke up” selfies weren’t cutting it anymore. She wanted to break through, to trend, to matter.

One night, in a haze of frustration and half-drunk cold brew, Mia filmed herself cutting up her designer wardrobe—dresses, bags, even her prized Valentino heels. “I’m done with the fakeness,” she said into the camera. “This is the real me. Take it or leave it.”

She posted it with the caption: #DestroyToRebuild.

By morning, the video had 2 million views.

Her follower count exploded. Brands reached out with sponsorship deals, despite—or perhaps because of—the destruction. Mia became “the influencer who wasn’t afraid to burn it all down.” Her followers begged for more. What would she destroy next?

And so, she leaned in. She shredded paintings, smashed a $1,000 coffee maker, …

In the Shadow of the Dome

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 4:53 p.m.

The cold wind cut through Sarah’s coat as she stood outside the Capitol, her breath visible in the icy air. She had come to Washington to see history in the making—an inauguration that felt, for reasons she couldn’t fully explain, like the end of one chapter and the beginning of another. But the moment she arrived, something felt wrong. The crowds, once buzzing with the usual anticipation of politics, had a different energy now, tense and restless. The air was thick with something she couldn’t quite name.

She’d made her way to the steps of the Capitol, hoping to catch a glimpse of the event, maybe even take a photo to send home. She wasn’t a political person, but today, there was something about being here, in the heart of the country’s democracy, that made her feel connected.

And then, it happened.

A loud crash echoed from the direction of …

Ashes of Home

hamed Jan. 12, 2025, 6:18 p.m.

Lucy Sheriff stood in the doorway of her apartment, the faint hum of the evening air carrying with it the scent of smoke, thick and acrid. She was eight months pregnant, her body swollen and heavy with the life growing inside her, yet in this moment, the weight she felt wasn't just from her child. It was the weight of uncertainty—the terrifying unknown that loomed just outside her door.

The phone call had come hours ago: mandatory evacuation. The fire, still miles away, had moved faster than anyone could have imagined, creeping up the hills like an unstoppable tide. Lucy had grabbed what little she could—her journalistic instincts kicking in, knowing she would need evidence, stories of those caught in the chaos. But even as she packed, she felt the hollow pit of fear in her chest. It wasn’t just her life she was worried about. It was her home, …

The Biggest Strife

hamed Feb. 7, 2024, 7:29 p.m.

He had loved her since he was a young boy, and she had loved him back. They grew up together, they went to school together, they dreamed of a future together. He was a brilliant student, a talented writer, a promising scholar. She was a beautiful girl, a talented singer, a promising artist.

They got married as soon as they graduated, and they moved to the city to pursue their careers. He got a job at a prestigious university, and she got a contract with a famous record label. They were happy, they were successful, they were in love.

But fame and fortune changed her. She became obsessed with her image, her popularity, her wealth. She started to neglect him, to cheat on him, to lie to him. She became addicted to drugs, to alcohol, to gambling. She became a different person, a person he didn't recognize, a person he …

Library Grand Re-Opening Disaster

hamed Jan. 22, 2025, 9:14 p.m.

The doors of Oakwood Public Library swung open with the fanfare of a grand unveiling—at least, that’s how Marcy, the library director, had envisioned it. She had spent weeks planning the grand reopening, complete with a ribbon-cutting ceremony, speeches, free bookmarks, and a local choir to serenade the crowd with library-themed songs. She was sure it would be the talk of the town.

The only thing Marcy hadn’t planned for was everything else.

It began with the ribbons. As Marcy, clutching a comically large pair of scissors, prepared to cut the ceremonial ribbon, the overly eager assistant librarian, Greg, made a mad dash to pull the decorative bow out of the way. Unfortunately, his timing was slightly off. He yanked the wrong ribbon, sending a cascade of balloons—tied to the archway—straight into the air and tangling themselves in the overhead ceiling fan.

The crowd gasped, but Marcy, ever the professional, …

The Last Shipment

hamed Jan. 16, 2025, 5:09 p.m.

Aria leaned against the counter of her empty shop, staring at the shelves that once overflowed with imported teas and spices. The air was thick with the scent of cinnamon—a reminder of better days. Outside, the neon sign flickered weakly: “Global Goods Market – Est. 2047.”

She traced the chipped edge of her register, her thoughts spiraling as the latest tariff announcement replayed in her mind. The government called it a "necessary step" to protect local industries, but for Aria, it felt like a death sentence.

“Thirty percent,” she muttered, shaking her head. Import costs had doubled overnight, and her loyal customers, already stretched thin, couldn’t stomach the price hikes.

The bell above the door jingled, startling her. A man in a faded coat shuffled in, his face shadowed by the dim light.

“Are you still selling the Darjeeling?” he asked, his voice hesitant.

Aria smiled faintly. “You’re in luck. …