HAADI

Joined November 2025

349 stories

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Dark Side Of Our Society

Stories (349)

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Dust and Doubt
Elias preferred the deeper stacks, where the light struggled to penetrate even at midday. It was a refuge, a sanctuary from everything outside those thick stone walls. The air here, heavy with the scent of decaying paper and forgotten leather, used to be his comfort. He’d come here, year after year, meticulously cataloging the dead languages, the lost histories, anything to keep his hands busy, his mind numb. He hunched over a folio, its pages brittle like old skin, the ink faded to ghosts.
By HAADI15 days ago in Psyche
The Static Flock
Unit 734 knew its purpose. To sanitize. To maintain cleanliness protocols across Sector Gamma-7. Its optical sensors registered particulate matter with absolute precision, its brushes hummed at calibrated frequencies, its waste compactors compressed detritus into neat, manageable cubes. Every night, it docked, a low thrum indicating power intake, diagnostics running in the background, a silent, efficient cycle. This was its existence, defined by logic, by order, by the absence of anomaly.
By HAADI15 days ago in Education
The Deepwater Palate
Elias felt the cold long before he opened his eyes, a damp chill that permeated the thin walls of his shack, seeped into his bones. It was four in the morning, same as always. The gulls hadn't even started their squawking yet, just the rhythmic, indifferent sigh of the sea against the shingle outside. He swung his legs over the side of the cot, the springs groaning in protest, a familiar complaint. His bad knee cracked like kindling, every morning a fresh reminder that time wasn't slowing down for anyone, least of all him. He pulled on his thick wool socks, then his rubber boots, the same pair he’d had since Martha bought them for his birthday, God, must be twenty years ago. The rubber was cracked, patched in places, but they still kept the wet out. Mostly.
By HAADI15 days ago in Men
Ink-Stained Shame
Rain lashed against the grimy window of Elias's studio, each drop a tiny drumbeat against the hollow in his chest. Dust motes, thick and slow, drifted in the single shaft of weak afternoon light that pierced the gloom, illuminating a space crammed with forgotten canvases, dried-up tubes of paint, and a half-eaten box of cereal on the floor. He hadn't touched a brush in months. His hands, once quick and certain, now felt heavy, useless things.
By HAADI15 days ago in Motivation
The Valley of Glass Flowers
Silas had followed the old prospector's map for two weeks, dust caked to his lungs, sun beating down on his worn hat. The old man, half-mad with fever, had whispered about a "valley of glass flowers" before he finally checked out in that ramshackle clinic in Dust Devil Gulch. Silas didn't believe in magic, not really, but the glint in the dying man's eye, the sheer conviction, it had lodged itself somewhere behind Silas’s ribs. And hell, anything was better than another busted claim in the blistering heat. This valley, the map claimed, lay beyond the Devil’s Tooth, a jagged peak nobody much bothered to climb anymore.
By HAADI15 days ago in Horror
The Echo of Blackwood Creek
Arthur didn’t mean to find the trunk. It sat, a hulking, forgotten beast in the corner of his grandmother’s attic, shoved behind boxes of Christmas ornaments and moth-eaten quilts. He was supposed to be clearing out her things, not getting lost in them. But the latch, green with age, called to him, a silent dare. He wrestled it open, the hinges groaning in protest, and a wave of something ancient, something musty and sweet, hit him. Not perfume, not dust, but the scent of time itself.
By HAADI15 days ago in History
The Weight of White
Frank stood in the kitchen's shadowed glow, the old refrigerator hum a dull counterpoint to the quiet outside. Three AM. The world was going white. He hadn’t meant to wake, but the sheer lack of sound had pulled him from a restless sleep. No wind, no cars on the street, just the soft, insistent pressure of falling snow. It piled on the sill, a thick, clean blanket over the gritty urban landscape he usually saw. He watched it for a long minute, a slow swirl, like sugar being poured from a height.
By HAADI15 days ago in Families
The Last Train to Nowhere
It’s not the rattling, metallic grind of the wheels that wakes me up these nights, not anymore. It’s the silence. That particular kind of dead quiet you only get after the last carriage has rumbled out of sight, leaving you standing on a platform that feels suddenly too big, too empty. And then the cold seeps into your bones, deeper than any winter wind. That’s what I hear.
By HAADI15 days ago in Confessions
The Backward Tick
He found it in a shop that smelled of old wood and forgotten lives, crammed between a chipped porcelain doll and a stack of encyclopedias missing their 'G'. An ornate mantel clock, dark mahogany, with brass flourishes dulled by time. Nothing special, really. Just another piece of somebody else’s past waiting for a new home. Elias, he just needed something to fill the silence in his own quiet apartment, something that wasn't the hum of the fridge or the creak of the floorboards under his own heavy steps. He paid the old man a twenty, didn't haggle. Didn't have the energy for it.
By HAADI15 days ago in Chapters
Cobblestones in the Kitchen
Arthur’s days unfolded in a predictable grey. Coffee, commute, cube, commute, dinner, television, sleep. Repeat. His apartment, a third-floor box in a sprawling suburb, smelled faintly of stale toast and the cleaning products the landlord insisted upon. The window overlooked a precise grid of other beige buildings, a parking lot, and a patch of manicured lawn that served no discernible purpose. He worked in data entry. Numbers, endless, indifferent numbers, marching across a screen. His fingers flew over the keyboard, but his mind, a restless, half-tamed thing, was always somewhere else.
By HAADI15 days ago in Lifehack
The Weight of Glass
The submersible, *Ares*, groaned, a familiar, metallic complaint against the crushing blackness outside. Leo watched the sonar display, a faint green heartbeat, his fingers tight on the stick. Beside him, Clara adjusted her headset, her profile etched by the console's glow, pale and sharp. Two hundred meters down. The Mariana Trench was less a destination and more a tomb, but for them, for a decade now, it had been a calling. Their calling, once. Now it just felt like another job, another expensive, silent trip into the dark, trying to find something whole in the shattered parts of the world.
By HAADI15 days ago in Marriage
The Burner
Leo sat at the stained Formica table, the motel room air thick with stale smoke and the tang of cheap whiskey. An open pack of generic cigarettes lay splayed, a single filter poking out. His hand, shaking just enough to make the pen scratch a little too hard, pressed down on the flimsy lined paper. It was for Maria, his sister. His little sister, who still saw him as something better than he was. He watched the ink bloom, a dark, bruised blue against the page. Each word a lie, or a half-truth, or a truth so ugly it felt like another lie.
By HAADI15 days ago in Criminal