HAADI

Joined November 2025

349 stories

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Dark Side Of Our Society

Stories (349)

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The Unspoken Volume
Elara's car crunched gravel, a sound too loud for the oppressive quiet of her grandmother's property. The house, an old brick beast, sat slumped under the weight of years, ivy clutching its walls like desperate fingers. She hadn’t been here since she was a little kid, not properly, and the air still carried that same smell: dust, lemon polish, and something else, something sharp and metallic, like old pennies.
By HAADI25 days ago in Families
The Glare of Ghost Street
The rain was a cold, constant whisper, a thousand tiny accusations hitting the asphalt. It didn’t let up. Just this endless, soft drumming, washing over everything, blurring the edges of a city that never really slept, just sagged into a kind of tired stupor. I watched it pool in the cracks of the sidewalk, each puddle a shattered mirror, catching the smeared smears of neon from the dive bar, the pizza joint, the flashing vacancy sign of the motel that always smelled faintly of disinfectant and stale regret. Red, blue, sickly green, all twisting and shimmering in the black water. Looked like blood in some places, bruising in others.
By HAADI25 days ago in Confessions
The Weight of Unspoken Words
Arthur sat in the dying glow of the living room lamp, the whiskey low in his glass. Dust motes danced in the solitary beam, the house too quiet, the kind of quiet that pressed in on a man after midnight. He’d pulled down the old cedar chest from the attic, a sporadic purge of forgotten things, a grim ritual he undertook every few years. Most of it was junk, yellowed receipts, rusty tools, photographs of faces he no longer recognized. Then his fingers brushed against something thin, papery, tucked beneath a stack of old concert stubs.
By HAADI25 days ago in Chapters
Shards of Clarity
Silas knew the look. The one people got when he started talking about it. A slight twitch at the corner of the mouth, eyes that drifted just over his shoulder, already looking for an escape. 'A city of glass, you say?' They'd ask, their voices dripping with a politeness that was worse than outright mockery. Yeah. A city. Underwater. Made of glass. His grandfather’s dying whisper, a fever dream born of too much rum and sun-scorched memories, or so everyone said.
By HAADI25 days ago in Lifehack
The Weight of Water
Sarah often caught herself sketching it on napkins, in the margins of bills, sometimes just tracing the outline of it on a fogged-up windowpane. Not *their* cramped kitchen window, mind you, but the window of a house that belonged to her only in stories. Mark's lake house. The one he’d summered in as a boy, up in northern Michigan, a quiet pocket of the world swallowed by ancient pines and the slow, deep breath of freshwater. She’d never set foot on its sun-bleached porch, never felt the splintery wood of its dock under her bare feet, never heard the slap of waves against its pebbled shore, but she knew it. She *felt* it. Like a memory stolen, or perhaps gifted, over years of shared beds and whispered confessions, a phantom limb of her own history.
By HAADI25 days ago in Marriage
Lunar Reckoning
The air hung like a wet blanket, smelling of brackish water and diesel fumes. Leo shivered, not from the cold—it wasn’t cold enough for that—but from the damp seeped into his bones, and the knot tightening in his gut. Vinnie was late. Always late, always testing the edges of a man’s patience, but tonight, it felt different. Tonight, every tick of his cheap watch felt like a hammer striking an anvil in the quiet, broken-down lot behind the old cannery. The moon, a sliver of bone, sliced through the cloud cover, throwing long, distorted shapes across the cracked asphalt. Every shadow seemed to twitch, to hold something unseen, something dangerous.
By HAADI25 days ago in Criminal
The Muffled Scream
The clock read two-seventeen. Not that it mattered. Time had a way of blurring when every day felt like a repeat of the last, a faded carbon copy. Arthur sat in the dark living room, a cold cup of coffee by his elbow, the faint hum of the refrigerator the only thing keeping the house from absolute dead silence. Then it hit him, a different kind of quiet. A heavy, plush quiet. He knew, without looking, that it was snowing.
By HAADI25 days ago in Psyche
The Wet City's Blueprint
Leo’s back screamed. Three AM. The fluorescent tubes above hummed, a flat, sickly sound that had burrowed into his skull hours ago. Empty instant ramen cups, a discarded bag of stale potato chips, and a mountain of crinkled tracing paper formed an archeological dig around his workstation. He was just another ghost in the architecture studio, one of the dozen or so still clinging to their desks, fueled by caffeine and the sheer terror of Friday’s final review.
By HAADI25 days ago in Education
The Weight of Unsaid Words
Arthur found it tucked beneath a stack of old blueprints, the paper yellowed, brittle at the edges. Not a treasure, not a forgotten deed, just a letter. His own scratchy handwriting, barely legible now, dated May 12th, 1978. Thirty-seven years ago. He hadn't meant to find it, just clearing out the desk in the den, a task his wife, Mary, had been hounding him about for weeks. He picked it up, careful not to crack the creases. The paper felt like a ghost in his hand, thin and impossibly fragile.
By HAADI25 days ago in Men
The Unwound Hour
Arthur sat slumped, half-buried in the armchair’s threadbare velvet, the stale air of his apartment thick around him. Dust motes danced in the weak sunlight slicing through a grime-streaked window. Days, weeks, months blurred into a single, suffocating gray. Phoenix Designs, his dream, his sweat, his very backbone, had crumbled to ash six months ago. The ghost of what he’d lost clung to every surface, a fine layer of grief and inaction. He just sat, breathing it in, letting it seep into his bones.
By HAADI25 days ago in Motivation
Puddle Reflections
Maria’s heels clicked a tired rhythm against the wet pavement, a sound swallowed by the steady pour of the night rain. Her umbrella, a cheap thing from the corner store, fought a losing battle against the wind, droplets still finding their way to her shoulders, cold against the thin cotton of her uniform. Another double shift, another greasy grill cleaned, another stack of diner plates scraped. Her back ached. Her feet felt like lead. The city hummed around her, a constant, grimy lullaby, punctuated by the splutter of old taxis and the distant wail of a siren.
By HAADI26 days ago in Families
The Unlit Ballroom
The weight of it, Jesus, it was a physical thing. Sat across from her at the kitchen table, the fluorescent light above humming, buzzing, too bright for this hour. For this moment. It bleached the color from everything, made Eleanor’s face look stark, tired. My hands, clammy things, were clamped tight under the table, knuckles white. Stomach twisted in knots, a fist clenching around something sharp, something metallic. Been practicing the words for weeks. Whispered them into the bathroom mirror, into the empty air of my car on the way to work, into the deep, unforgiving night. Never sounded right. Always too small, too flimsy for the chasm they had to cross. My tongue felt thick, a slug in my mouth.
By HAADI26 days ago in Confessions