HAADI

Joined November 2025

349 stories

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Dark Side Of Our Society

Stories (349)

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Weight of the White
The world outside Arthur’s kitchen window had bled to nothing but white, a thick, insistent fall that swallowed sound whole. It was past midnight, way past, the kind of hour where even the hum of the fridge felt like a shout. The snow wasn’t falling, not really; it was descending, a slow, deliberate surrender. Each flake, a tiny ghost, settling onto the already heavy drifts that piled against the sill, blurring the sharp edges of the night. He hadn’t turned on any lights, just stood there in the faint, bruised light from the streetlamp across the way, watching it.
By HAADI25 days ago in Chapters
Ink and Ash
Frank couldn’t sleep. Again. The clock radio glowed 3:17 AM, a malevolent green eye in the darkness. His wife, Sarah, breathed soft, even snores beside him, a world away. But Frank? He was stuck. Stuck on Mark, on the empty chair across the conference table, on the goddamn email that gutted him, subject line: 'A new direction for Sterling Group.' Sterling Group, his group, the one he and Mark built from nothing but spit and cheap coffee. Now Mark's group. Mark's new direction. Mark’s betrayal.
By HAADI25 days ago in Lifehack
Puddle Reflections
They walked, the asphalt still dry beneath their worn shoes, but the air thick, heavy. Mark's arm brushed Sarah's, a ghost of a touch, neither pulling away, neither leaning in. Another Tuesday night. Another forced smile at the host, another plate of pasta, another conversation that skittered across the surface of their lives like a flat stone on still water. The diner's fluorescent glow had been too harsh, the chatter too loud, but the silence between them now, on the street, felt louder. She chewed on her lip, tasting the faint bitterness of cheap wine, a metallic tang of something else she couldn’t quite name.
By HAADI25 days ago in Marriage
Dancing with Shadows in the Moonlight
Leo watched Mick’s breath fog in the sharp, October air. Kid was jumpy, always was, but tonight it was worse. Moon hung fat and yellow over the ridge, bleaching the old stone manor house a pale, ghostly white. No clouds. Great for seeing, terrible for hiding. Leo thumbed the cold steel of his pry bar. “Ready, boy?” he grunted, the words puffing out thin. Mick just nodded, a quick, jerky motion, eyes wide, fixed on the distant house like it held a monster. It did, in a way. Their monster. The one that could swallow 'em whole. This wasn't a game. It was a job. And if they messed it up, it was a very long drop.
By HAADI25 days ago in Criminal
The Moon's Confession
Elias couldn't sleep. Again. The mattress felt like a griddle beneath him, even with the windows cracked. It wasn’t the heat, not really. It was the hum, a low, constant buzz in his skull, the kind that meant everything was wrong, always wrong. He pushed himself up, swung his legs over the side of the bed. The floorboards creaked under his bare feet, a familiar complaint in the dead quiet of the house. Two-fifteen AM, the digital clock glowed red, judging him.
By HAADI25 days ago in Psyche
The Weight of Light
The air in Silas’s workshop always hung thick with the tang of dust, spent flux, and something else, something sharp and cold, like splintered winter. Jory wiped sweat from his brow with the back of a hand, leaving a smear of grime. Another failure. The crystal shard, meant to be a delicate petal, lay on the scarred workbench, a jagged, useless ghost. It looked like it had exploded inward, a star collapsing, but it was just Jory’s clumsy grip, his too-much pressure, his desperate impatience.
By HAADI25 days ago in Education
A Certain Shade of Bitter
Arthur always knew the exact moment the color blue would hit him. It wasn't the kind you saw in the sky or on a painted wall. This blue, it was a taste, something that settled on his tongue like dust, then seeped into his molars, down his throat, and straight into the pit of his stomach. It wasn't bitter, not like coffee left too long on the burner. More like… metallic. The tang of old pennies. The flat, dull ache of a winter morning when the light was grey, not even proper white, just endless grey-blue stretching out to nowhere.
By HAADI25 days ago in Men
Aethel's Glimmer
The 'Odyssey' was anything but. A rust-pocked tub, bought with the last of Elias Vance's inheritance and every cent he could borrow against the house he hadn't seen in years. The salt spray stung his eyes, a constant reminder of the ocean's indifference, but he didn't blink. Not anymore. Thirty years, thirty years of scoffing from academics, snickers from fellow divers who thought they knew what 'deep' meant. They called Aethel a myth, a drunken sailor's tale. He called it his life’s work. His obsession. His damnation, maybe.
By HAADI25 days ago in Motivation
The Scent of Other Basil
The kitchen always smelled of garlic and something else, something vague and sweet, like old wood and sunshine. Elena, my mother, leaned against the counter, hands kneading olive oil into dough for focaccia, her knuckles white. Her voice, thin with age but still carrying the lilt of Calabria, started on the same story, the one about her childhood, about Nonna Mariella’s kitchen, back in some village I couldn’t even point to on a map. ‘The morning light,’ she’d say, eyes unfocused, looking right through me, ‘it poured through the window like thick honey, right onto Nonna’s hands as she shelled peas.’ I could see it. I could feel that light, warm on my own skin. Hear the gentle pop of the peas from their pods, a quiet rhythm against the chirping of crickets outside an open window I’d never sat beside.
By HAADI26 days ago in Families
The Stain of Blue
The rain came down in sheets, a cold, relentless drum solo on the city's concrete stage. It wasn't a gentle drizzle; this was the kind that soaked through your jacket in minutes, clung to your eyelashes, and made every neon sign bleed into the slick, black puddles. I walked slow, head down, the hood of my worn-out sweatshirt doing little to keep the chill from my neck. Each puddle was a shattered mirror, reflecting the lurid greens of the liquor store, the frantic reds of the Chinese takeout, the electric blues of the strip club called 'Heaven' that was anything but.
By HAADI26 days ago in Confessions
The Dust-Eater's Confession
The air in the Old Reading Room always tasted like paper and forgotten lives. Elias, bent over a table scarred by generations of elbows, breathed it in, a dry, comforting dust that settled in his lungs. His glasses perched low on his nose, magnifying the spider-web script of the 17th-century ledger he was trying to decipher. Outside, the city hummed, a faraway, inconsequential thing. In here, time had seized up, thick and unmoving as molasses, caught between the stacks of decaying leather and crumbling vellum.
By HAADI26 days ago in Chapters
Puddle Vision
The rain had been at it all day, a steady, cold insult. Leo pulled his collar tighter, water already seeping through the thin denim of his jacket. Each step squished. The city was a smear of grey and black, wet asphalt sucking at his worn sneakers. His own head felt like that street, mashed up, grimy, slick with the day's fresh failures. Another missed payment, another blank stare from the bank teller, another empty promise whispered to himself about 'next week.' Next week, the world would probably still be cold and wet.
By HAADI26 days ago in Lifehack