HAADI

Joined November 2025

349 stories

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Dark Side Of Our Society

Stories (349)

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The Spine-Cracked Confessions
The library groaned, a familiar, ancient sound Elias had come to mistake for breathing. It was 4:30 AM, cold enough to see his breath in the vast reading room, even before the heating kicked in properly. He moved through the cavernous space, a lone figure amidst a million hushed stories, the scuff of his work boots the only intrusion on the deep quiet. Dust motes, like tiny, lost stars, danced in the weak pre-dawn light filtering through the high, arched windows. He loved this hour, before the students arrived, before the murmurs and the rustle of turning pages, before the world remembered the library existed.
By HAADI16 days ago in Psyche
The Frozen Terminal
Leo hunched over the art table, a small fortress of solitude built around his straining shoulders. The air, thick with the scent of tempera paint and damp construction paper, usually didn't bother him. But today, the cerulean pot sat there, a menacing pool, shimmering under the fluorescent lights, just waiting. He watched the other kids dip their brushes in, flicking the blue onto construction paper oceans and skies, faces placid. Leo's stomach churned, a cold knot tightening with every splash of that particular shade.
By HAADI16 days ago in Education
The Last Car to Nowhere
The platform was concrete dust and shadows, the kind that cling to forgotten places. A single bulb, caged and grimy, buzzed overhead, doing little to chase the heavy dusk. The sign above the track, its paint peeling like sunburnt skin, read: ‘Track 9 – Final Boarding.’ No destination listed. Just that. Final. A few men huddled, shoulders hunched against the biting wind that whipped through the station’s skeletal frame. They didn’t talk much, just eyed the track, eyed the horizon that promised nothing but more of this bleakness.
By HAADI16 days ago in Men
The Weight of White
The city, a beast that never slept, usually growled outside Elias’s window. Tonight, though, the beast had fallen silent. Not a whimper, not a rumble. Just a thick, heavy quiet that pressed against the glass, making his ears ache. He’d been sitting at his kitchen table for three hours, staring at a half-finished story, the cursor blinking on the screen like a judgmental eye. He felt hollowed out, wrung dry, like a dish rag left in the sun too long.
By HAADI16 days ago in Motivation
The Static Blue
Arthur woke up, same as always. Six-fifteen. Alarm a dull throb against the back of his skull. Not a headache, not really. Just... there. Like everything else. The thin morning light pushing through the blinds, painting stripes on the wall. Gray stripes. His life had become a series of grays, hadn't it? The gray suit, the gray cubicle, the gray faces on the train. The coffee, black as tar, tasted like... well, like coffee. Nothing more, nothing less. Just fuel for another day of existing.
By HAADI17 days ago in Lifehack
The Azure Hunger
Arthur’s life was gray, mostly. A gray cubicle, gray spreadsheets, the gray light of a damp morning commute. He liked it that way, orderly, predictable. Then came the faintest tickle, a phantom note, whenever he caught sight of the delivery guy’s bright blue uniform, or the endless scroll of a Facebook feed. Not a flavor, not really, more like an impression, a cold, dry whisper on the back of his tongue, like metal left out in winter. He’d blink, swallow, dismiss it as one of those weird fleeting sensations, a leftover ghost from breakfast, maybe. But it kept happening. Blue, then that taste.
By HAADI17 days ago in Horror
The Last Unfinished Word
The rain had finally let up, leaving the trench a slick, stinking mess. Thomas, nineteen and already looking fifty, pressed his back against the cold, damp earth of the dugout wall. His uniform, a second skin of mud and stale sweat, clung to him. The rats, emboldened by the recent lull in shelling, skittered across the duckboards, their tiny eyes glinting in the meager candlelight. He tried not to think about them, tried not to think about the damp chill that seemed to have burrowed deep into his bones, even past his thick wool greatcoat. He just needed a moment, a sliver of quiet that felt almost stolen from the gaping maw of the Western Front.
By HAADI17 days ago in History
The Weight of White
John hadn't meant to be awake. Not at three in the morning, definitely not. But his head buzzed with numbers, the kind that didn't add up, the kind that kept him stapled to the worn armchair in the living room, staring at nothing. The house creaked around him, settling, shifting, like an old woman sighing in her sleep. He’d tried counting sheep once, that was a laugh. Ended up counting overdue notices and the tuition for Lily’s art school, which felt like a kick in the gut every time it crossed his mind. The thermostat clicked off, plunging the air into a deeper chill, a feeling that settled into his bones.
By HAADI17 days ago in Families
The Unspooling Hour
The dust motes in the weak afternoon light danced, suspended, just like everything else in this goddamn house. Especially me. The air itself felt thick, like old velvet. My eyes, they just slid back to it, always back to the grandfather clock in the corner. Heavy oak, dark with age and neglect, its face a cracked porcelain moon. Most clocks, they tick forward, right? Mark the passage, the relentless march. Not this one. This one, the second hand, it dragged itself counter-clockwise. Minutes, hours, days, peeling back like old wallpaper. It wasn’t a trick of the light, wasn’t my tired eyes. It was real. A quiet defiance of everything. A promise, maybe. Or a cruel joke, I still haven't figured that out, even now, with the taste of ash in my mouth. My fingers trembled on the armrest, the worn fabric shedding little threads. Little pieces of everything.
By HAADI17 days ago in Confessions
The Scribes of Shadow-Dust
Elias. Twenty-three. Skin stretched too tight over bone, shadows under his eyes like bruised plums. He spent his nights in the university library, the oldest wing, where the heating sputtered more often than it warmed, and the dust, a permanent, ancient resident, clung to everything. Stacks of forgotten texts, leather-bound and brittle, loomed over him, endless rows of hushed histories. The air, thick with the scent of aged paper and something else, something metallic, like old blood or forgotten iron, pressed in. He was supposed to be working on his thesis, the one that would decide everything, the one that would either pull him out of this suffocating existence or bury him under it. Instead, he just sat, staring at the faded script of a book he couldn't even recall pulling, feeling the weight of his father's disappointment pressing down, a physical thing against his chest.
By HAADI17 days ago in Chapters
The Shard Garden
Eleanor, 'Ellie,' watched him from the kitchen window, her reflection ghosting over the pane. The light was dying, painting the backyard a bruised purple. Michael was out there, hunched over his 'garden,' as he called it. The clink of glass, a delicate, insistent sound, carried faintly on the cooling air. Another evening. Another hour lost to the glittering, silent things he arranged with such meticulous care. Her own hands, still damp from rinsing the dinner plates, flexed.
By HAADI17 days ago in Lifehack
The Weight of White
The duffel bag snagged on a frozen root, jerking Leo forward, his shoulder screaming. He bit down on a ragged breath, a puff of white fog blooming then vanishing into the frigid air. The snow, heavy and relentless, swallowed every sound. His own boots, usually a loud crunch on cold nights, were muffled, a soft shush against the deepening blanket. It was a silence so profound it felt like a pressure, pushing in on his skull, making his ears ring.
By HAADI17 days ago in Criminal