Flash Stories

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 …

A New Era Begins

hamed Jan. 16, 2025, 6:10 p.m.

The weight of the crown was heavier than Philip II had ever imagined. As he stood in the dimly lit chamber of the Alcázar of Madrid, his hands trembled ever so slightly as he adjusted the heavy golden circlet that marked him as King of Spain. The room was silent, save for the crackling of the fire in the hearth and the faint clinking of armor from the guards stationed at the door. But within him, a storm was raging.

It was 1556, and the empire his father, Charles V, had left behind was vast and unruly, spanning continents and stretching across oceans. The Holy Roman Empire, the Netherlands, Italy, the Americas—he was now the steward of it all. But it wasn’t just the sprawling territories that weighed on him; it was the expectations. The delicate dance of politics, the balance of power, the fragile alliances, and the growing pressures …

A Curtain Divides the World - Chapter 3: "Secrets of the Curtain Club"

dehongi Jan. 17, 2025, 6:39 p.m.

It all started during lunch break. Arash and his best friend, Kian, were playing their usual game of "Soccer Without a Ball" in the school courtyard—essentially an overly dramatic simulation of a soccer match where the "ball" was entirely imaginary. Arash had just scored what he declared was a game-winning goal (though Kian insisted it was offside), when they heard a suspicious clunk coming from the old storage shed behind the gym.
The shed was officially "off-limits," which, to any boy worth his salt, meant it was the most interesting place on campus.
“Did you hear that?” Kian whispered, his eyes wide.
“Probably just a cat,” Arash said.
“A cat wearing boots?” Kian pointed toward the shed, where faint murmurs could now be heard. “That’s definitely people.”
The two exchanged a look, the kind of look that boys exchange when they’re about to do something undeniably stupid but utterly irresistible.
“Let’s check it out,” Arash said.
They …

The children of Adam are limbs of each other

saadi Dec. 30, 2023, 3:52 p.m.

The children of Adam are limbs of each other
Having been created of one essence.
When the calamity of time afflicts one limb
The other limbs cannot remain at rest.
If thou hast no sympathy for the troubles of others
Thou art unworthy to be called by the name of a human.

-

Zara was a young journalist who had traveled to Iran to cover the aftermath of a devastating earthquake. She had seen many tragedies in her career, but nothing prepared her for the sight of the rubble, the cries of the survivors, and the smell of death. She felt a pang of guilt as she snapped photos and interviewed people, wondering if she was exploiting their pain for her own gain.

One day, she met a boy named Ali, who had lost his entire family in the quake. He was living in a makeshift tent with some other orphans, sharing a meager ration …

Ashes of Home

hamed Jan. 12, 2025, 6:14 p.m.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the remnants of what was once a vibrant neighborhood. Now, all that remained were smoldering ruins and the smell of charred wood and ashes. The fire had come without warning, a merciless beast that tore through the community, leaving only sorrow in its wake.

Samantha stood on the edge of what used to be her street, staring at the hollow skeletons of homes. She had lived here for over twenty years—watched children grow up, witnessed countless barbecues and block parties, celebrated birthdays and holidays with neighbors who felt more like family than mere acquaintances. But now, the street was empty, the once-bustling community silenced by the flames.

She reached down and picked up a photograph, the edges singed but the image still recognizable. It was of her daughter, Emily, playing with the neighbor’s dog in the front yard. It …

Fate

khayam Jan. 27, 2024, 8:28 a.m.

آن روز که توسن فلک زین کردند
و آرایش مشتری و پروین کردند

این بود نصیب ما ز دیون قضا
ما را چه گنه قسمت ما این کردند

The day the world was created
And placed the planets Jupiter and Venus in their orbits

This was our share of the fate that was determined for us
We had no role in determining this fate

The Storm

Ali was a fisherman who lived in a small village by the sea. He loved his job and his family. He worked hard every day to provide for them. He was happy and content.

One day, a big storm came. It was the worst storm that Ali had ever seen. The wind was howling, the waves were crashing, and the rain was pouring. Ali was worried about his boat and his nets. He decided to go to the shore and check on them.

He left his house and …

Bound for the North

hamed Jan. 17, 2025, 3:09 p.m.

The sun had barely risen when the Ford Model T sputtered to life, its engine groaning as if reluctant to leave the familiar red soil of Mississippi behind. Clara Harris held her breath as the car rattled down the dirt road, the distant hum of the engine the only sound in the pre-dawn stillness. Beside her, her husband, James, gripped the wheel with determination, his knuckles white.

"Everything we’ve worked for, Clara," James said quietly, eyes fixed on the road ahead, "it’s all up north. We can build something better for our children."

Clara nodded, her hand resting protectively on the small bundle in her lap—baby Ruth, fast asleep, unaware of the life-altering journey unfolding around her. Behind them, their two older children, Elijah and Annie, were silent, both lost in their own thoughts. The journey had been their idea, but Clara wasn’t sure if they truly understood what lay …

The Sound of Silence

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 4:58 p.m.

Olena crouched by the window, her eyes tracing the distant skyline where the city’s once-proud spires now stood jagged and broken against the pale, grey sky. The sounds of war were a constant presence now—booms in the distance, the faint crackle of gunfire, and the ever-present hum of sirens that had become as much a part of daily life as the hum of her own heartbeat.

She used to wake up to the sounds of birds outside, her children’s laughter, the chatter of neighbors exchanging morning greetings. But that was before.

Now, each day felt like a fragile thread stretched too thin, one tug away from snapping. The world had changed overnight, and the city she had loved so much was slowly crumbling, piece by piece.

Yet, amid the chaos, Olena still managed to find moments of peace. A bowl of warm soup shared with her mother, the brief comfort …

The Gathering

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 6:30 p.m.

The sun dipped low behind the mountains, casting a golden glow over the valley where the red earth met the tall trees. Mara sat on the edge of the fire pit, her fingers tracing the patterns of the ancestral symbols carved into the stone. Her grandmother’s voice echoed in her mind, as it often did in moments like this.

“Our stories are in the land, in the air, in the rivers. We are the land, and it is us.”

Mara closed her eyes, trying to summon the strength that had been passed down through generations. The fight for recognition, for justice, had been long and weary. But this... this was different. Something had shifted. People were listening now.

For decades, the land that her ancestors had cared for, nurtured, and fought for had been taken from them—first by colonizers, then by corporations, each one extracting resources, desecrating sacred sites, and …

Threads of Hope

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

The “Anxiety Allies” Discord server wasn’t flashy. Just a pale blue logo and a tagline that read: You’re not alone. Alex had joined on a bad night, when the walls of his studio apartment felt like they were closing in. He didn’t expect much—maybe some breathing tips, maybe someone to remind him it wouldn’t last forever.

He didn’t expect Maya.

Her username, StarrySoul, popped up in a thread about grounding techniques. Her reply was simple: “I count the objects in the room until my breathing slows. It doesn’t fix everything, but it helps.”

Alex tried it that night. It worked just enough to take the edge off. The next morning, he sent her a private message: “Thanks for the tip. I counted 23 things before I could fall asleep.”

She replied within minutes. “Glad it helped. My record is 58. Desperate times.”

Their conversation grew from there—first about anxiety, then …