Flash Stories

Erase history's scars

hamed Feb. 8, 2024, 8:28 p.m.

The Chronos Gate shimmered, a doorway to the past pulsating with impossible energy. Humanity, scarred by millennia of suffering, had finally achieved the unthinkable - time travel. Not for frivolous sight-seeing, but for redemption. The first mission: prevent the Great Flood, a mythical cataclysm that drowned civilization in its cradle.

Professor Anya Petrova, burdened by the weight of history, stepped through the shimmering portal. Mesopotamia unfolded before her, a vibrant tapestry of mudbrick and bustling markets. Her target: Utnapishtim, the man warned by the gods, the only survivor. Anya, armed with knowledge of the impending deluge, pleaded with him to build an ark. Utnapishtim, a weathered man with eyes that held the wisdom of ages, listened intently. Yet, a shadow flickered in his gaze.

"To alter the past," he rumbled, "is to unravel the tapestry of time. The flood, though devastating, birthed new beginnings, new societies. Can you bear the …

A Curtain Divides the World - Chapter 1: "Boys, Boys, Boys"

dehongi Jan. 17, 2025, 6:37 p.m.

At Arash’s school, life was a testosterone-fueled symphony of chaos. Every day began with a thundering stampede as boys flooded the hallways, racing each other to class as if punctuality were a sport. Backpacks swung like pendulums, shoes screeched against the tiled floors, and someone, somewhere, was always yelling, “Last one to the classroom is a chicken!”
Arash usually wasn’t in the front of the pack—running wasn’t his thing—but he also refused to be the metaphorical chicken, so he always managed to come in somewhere in the middle. His classroom, Room 14, was a microcosm of every stereotype about boys you could imagine. There was Hamid, the self-proclaimed athlete, who carried a soccer ball everywhere like it was his firstborn child. Majid, the class clown, could turn even the dullest math lecture into a comedy sketch. And then there was Kian, Arash’s best friend, whose life goal seemed to be proving …

The Curse of Love and Immortality - Chapter 5: Yasmin and the Prince of Winter

dehongi Jan. 16, 2025, 12:11 p.m.

The king’s voice carried a chill that matched the story he was about to tell. The flickering flames in the hearth seemed to dance slower as he began, their warmth struggling against the weight of the tale.
“Tonight,” he said, “we speak of Yasmin, the Pari who gave her heart to a prince cursed by winter—a man whose life was bound to frost and snow, who could never feel the warmth of spring.”
The princess tilted her head. “A curse? Was it magic?”
The king nodded. “It was. The prince, Darian, had once been beloved by the gods of the seasons, but his pride earned him their wrath. He dared to say he needed no one—not even the gods themselves. For his arrogance, he was cursed to live in perpetual winter. Snow followed him wherever he went, and ice bloomed under his touch. No fire could warm him, and no sun could thaw …

Voices of the Forgotten

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 5:36 p.m.

In the small town of Willow Creek, tucked away in the rolling hills of the countryside, the world seemed a faraway place. The local café served the same cup of coffee, the high school football games were still the talk of Friday nights, and people smiled at each other on the streets. But, in the shadows of their quiet existence, something had shifted. The ripples of the global protests against police brutality had reached even this remote corner of the world.

Maya stood on the edge of the town square, watching as people began to gather. There was a nervous energy in the air, a feeling that something momentous was about to happen. She had never been one for public displays, but the images of George Floyd’s death—his final breaths, his cry for help—had haunted her every night. The injustice, the brutality, had pushed her to the breaking point. She …

The Last Road

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

Maya gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, as the miles stretched before her like an endless blur. The car’s air conditioning had long since failed, the inside of the vehicle suffocating from the heat. The fire was close now—too close. The sky was no longer blue but a molten orange, the sun obscured by smoke as thick as tar.

The radio crackled, barely audible through the static: "Evacuate immediately. Avoid Highway 12. Alternate routes advised. Do not delay."

She wasn’t on Highway 12. She wasn’t on any route, really. Maya had taken the back roads, hoping to escape the gridlock, but it seemed the whole town was trying to do the same thing. Traffic was at a standstill—cars creeping forward in fits and starts like a slow-motion stampede. The smell of burning wood filled the air, sharp and choking.

Maya glanced at her phone—no service. It had been that way …

The Last Archive

hamed Jan. 12, 2025, 5:41 p.m.

Aria's fingers itched for her confiscated tablet. Its smooth surface had been her world—an endless stream of data, escape, and connection. Now, it was just an empty memory, like the rest of the tech outlawed after The Blackout.

She sat on the porch of her grandparents' weathered farmhouse, staring at the mountains that framed their tiny village. Her grandmother, Laleh, hummed an old tune while threading a needle, her gnarled hands working with precision. Aria had never felt more out of place.

“This isn’t living,” Aria muttered under her breath.

“What did you say, child?” Laleh’s sharp voice cut through the quiet.

“Nothing,” Aria said, louder this time. She sank deeper into the wooden chair, the creak of its joints filling the awkward silence.

Laleh set down her sewing and motioned to Aria. “Come here.”

Aria hesitated but shuffled over. Laleh placed a thick, dusty book on the table between …

Beyond the Stars

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 4:46 p.m.

Peter Lawson sat at his desk in the cluttered NASA lab, eyes bloodshot from hours spent scrutinizing calculations and blueprints. The hum of the machines around him was constant, a steady reminder of the giant leap they were all trying to make. Apollo was no longer just a dream—it was real, a mission that would send men to the moon and bring them home. But the weight of it pressed against him like the gravity they were trying to defy.

He ran a hand through his graying hair, staring at the latest telemetry readings on his screen. There were still so many things to solve—fuel mixtures, heat shields, trajectory corrections. It was never enough. The math was unforgiving.

“Pete,” called a voice from the doorway. It was his wife, Carol. She stood there, holding a cup of coffee, her eyes tired but warm.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, wiping his brow. …

The Final Blade

hamed Jan. 17, 2025, 2:46 p.m.

Rain tapped against the narrow cell window, a rhythmic reminder of time slipping away. Marcel Chevalier sat on the hard cot, his fingers tracing the edges of a worn photograph. It showed a young woman with a bright smile, her hand resting protectively on a boy’s shoulder. His son. A family now reduced to a memory.

The execution was set for dawn. The guillotine, an ancient relic in a modern age, waited in the courtyard. Marcel had heard the guards whisper earlier, their voices laced with unease. “The last one,” they said. “France doesn’t do this anymore.”

He thought about that. Being the last. A final punctuation mark in the story of a justice system that had severed countless lives. Would his death mean anything?

A knock broke his reverie. The chaplain entered, his face somber but kind. “Marcel,” he began gently, “have you considered what we spoke of yesterday? …