HAADI

Joined November 2025

349 stories

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Dark Side Of Our Society

Stories (349)

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The Blue Door of Ard na Mara
Clara sat on her worn-out couch, the city hum a dull ache behind the thin walls of her apartment, a ceaseless, indifferent drone. Another Tuesday, another takeout container cooling on her lap, the plastic lid sweating condensation. She scrolled through meaningless feeds, her thumbs moving on autopilot, a restless current under her skin, a craving for something real. Everything felt… temporary, provisional. Like she was just passing through, waiting for a life she hadn't quite grabbed hold of yet. The only constant, the only thing that felt truly rooted, was an ache in her gut, a deep-seated yearning for a place she’d only seen in faded photographs and heard in her grandmother’s lilting, memory-softened voice.
By HAADI23 days ago in Families
The Weight of Parchment Dust
The air in the Grand Archive tasted of paper and time, thick and still. Elias ran a hand over the spine of a leather-bound tome, the cool, dry skin of the book a familiar comfort, a familiar curse. Seventy-three years. He’d walked these aisles, breathed this dust, cataloged these silent histories for seventy-three years. Every creak of the ancient floorboards, every rustle of a turning page, every cough from the lone night guard down the hall, they were whispers. Always whispers. Not from the living, no. From the dead. From the words themselves, accusatory, knowing.
By HAADI23 days ago in Confessions
The Glass Heart of the Mountain
Elias carried the weight of the mountain on his shoulders, even when he wasn't tunneling through it. It was in the slump of his shoulders, the ache in his knees, the dust ground into the lines of his face. Ten years, maybe more, since the lung sickness took Clara. Ten years since Maria packed a small bag and left him with only the smell of her lavender soap lingering in the empty house. He hadn’t really mined since, not properly. Just scraped by, fixing fences, hauling lumber, the kind of back-breaking work that didn’t leave room for thinking too much.
By HAADI23 days ago in Chapters
A Hint of Indigo on the Tongue
Leo’s jaw ached. Not from grinding his teeth, not exactly, but from the sheer effort of holding his face still, of keeping that bland, approachable mask in place. The office was a meat grinder this week. Fluorescent lights buzzed a low, sickly hum above, a constant pressure behind his eyes. Keyboards clattered like a thousand tiny nervous spiders. Someone, three cubicles over, was laughing too loud, a braying sound that scraped against the inside of Leo’s skull. His monitor, a giant twenty-seven-inch canvas of lines and angles, showed the skeleton of a new high-rise, all steel and glass, yet it offered no sanctuary. He felt his hands begin to clam up, the tips of his fingers getting that prickling, too-sensitive feeling. His breath, shallow. He could feel the edge of a full-blown internal meltdown coming on, a tightening coil in his gut, the kind that made him want to rip out his own hair.
By HAADI23 days ago in Lifehack
The Drowned City of Dishes
The kitchen smelled of burnt toast and yesterday’s regrets, a familiar perfume in their small house. Arthur scraped his fork against the ceramic plate, a thin, grating sound that pulled Eleanor’s gaze from the window. Rain lashed against the glass, just like it had for three days straight, blurring the world outside into a watercolor smear.
By HAADI23 days ago in Marriage
The Salt on His Tongue
Leo sat hunched on the edge of the mattress, springs groaning a complaint under his weight. The air in the room was thick with stale smoke and something else, something metallic like old blood, clinging to the ripped wallpaper. Rain hammered the windowpane, a rhythm of the city’s endless, damp misery. He rolled the half-smoked cigarette between his fingers, the ember a dull orange eye in the gloom. His breath fogged in the chill. Two o'clock. Almost time.
By HAADI23 days ago in Criminal
The Grey Harbor of My Mind
Leo’s life was a beige office cubicle, the kind with stains he didn’t want to think about. Fluorescent lights hummed a constant, low-grade headache into his temples. Every day, the same screen glow, the same spreadsheets, the same flat coffee from the breakroom machine. But in his head, the light was different. It was the bruised, pewter grey of a sky over a cold sea, pushing down on old stone cottages with slate roofs, black with damp and time. Always there, this image. A harbor, not grand, but tight, almost choked with fishing boats, their paint peeling, nets piled high like sleeping monsters. He’d never been, not in his life, not a single foot on that rough-hewn quay, but he knew the place like he knew the back of his own hand, better maybe. It was a constant ache, a phantom limb of a memory.
By HAADI23 days ago in Psyche
The Scholar's Ache
The air in the Old Reading Room hung thick, heavy with the scent of dried glue, forgotten tea, and a thousand years of settled dust. Elias, slumped at the long oak table, felt it press down on him, a physical weight. Not just the air, but the silence too, a kind of judgment, broken only by the rustle of vellum or the cough, politely stifled, from a pale figure across the room. He hated it here. Hated the quiet, hated the way the light, filtered through grime-streaked gothic windows, made everything look sepia-toned and dead. But mostly, he hated the book in front of him.
By HAADI23 days ago in Education
The Weight of White
The house groaned, a settling sound, deep in the gut of the night. Frank heard it, even through the double pane, even over the quiet sigh of the furnace, because everything else was gone. Swallowed. The snow had done it. Not just a dusting, not a polite flurry. This was a goddamn smothering. An inch an hour, the radio had droned, before he’d turned it off, before the world went quiet.
By HAADI23 days ago in Men
The Static Hum of Softness
Unit 734’s optical sensors flickered, a familiar glitch rippling through its core processors. Not an error code, not a system warning, but an image. Always the same: an impossibly green field under a sky the color of a fresh, clean wipe, and sheep. Not real sheep, not exactly. These were a shimmering approximation, their wool spun from static and light, their bleats a hum of feedback. Electric sheep, the old stories called them. Its programming dictated efficiency, logic, the meticulous collection of refuse. This persistent internal simulation was neither efficient nor logical. It was, quite simply, an anomaly.
By HAADI23 days ago in Motivation
The Weight of White
Arthur had always found a kind of grim comfort in the snow. Not the fluffy, postcard kind, but the heavy, wet stuff that smothered the world in gray and white. It muffled the distant hum of the highway, the neighbor’s barking dog, the constant, irritating thrum of life. But tonight, it wasn’t muffled. It was utterly, absolutely gone. The silence pressed in, a physical weight against his eardrums, far heavier than any sound.
By HAADI24 days ago in Horror
The Drip and the Glare
The rain came down in sheets, a cold, persistent slap against the city’s grimy face. Gutters ran thick with it, carrying cigarette butts and forgotten newspapers toward some distant sewer mouth. Every neon sign, every headlight, every fleeting glimpse of incandescent bulb exploded in the slick puddles, fracturing into a million liquid shards. Red bled into blue, green twisted into yellow, then dissolved, only to reform with the next ripple.
By HAADI24 days ago in History