HAADI

Joined November 2025

349 stories

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Dark Side Of Our Society

Stories (349)

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The Weight of White
Arthur couldn't sleep. Again. It wasn't the usual restlessness, the buzzing hum of late-night traffic, or the faint wail of a distant siren. Tonight, it was a profound, suffocating quiet. He sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed, the cold floorboards biting his bare feet. He rubbed his face, the stubble coarse against his palm. Something felt… different. He padded to the window, pulled back the heavy curtain.
By HAADI17 days ago in Psyche
The Static Blue
Seven. God, seven was a screaming orange, sharp as a rusted nail, a metallic tang that made Leo’s teeth ache. And two, always that dull, waxy brown, like old shoe leather, thick and flavorless. Mrs. Davison droned on at the whiteboard, her voice a flat, persistent gray, trying to drill multiplication into their heads. Leo gripped his pencil, knuckles white. The numbers on the page swam, each one a clamor of flavor and texture fighting for space on his tongue, behind his eyes. It wasn’t a distraction, not really. It was just... how things were. How they’d always been.
By HAADI17 days ago in Education
Moonlit Grapple
The porch wood groaned its nightly protest as Elias pushed off, boots scuffing the worn planks. The air bit hard, sharp with the smell of damp earth and dying leaves. Above, a full moon hung, bloated and white, bleeding light across the overgrown patch he called a backyard. Shadows stretched long and thin, like skeletal fingers reaching for him. He walked to the center, where the old swing set, rusted and silent, used to stand. Now, it was just a patch of flattened, dead grass, a bald spot in the wild. He always started there.
By HAADI17 days ago in Men
The Weight of Paper
Elias walked in, shoulders slumped, like he was carrying a full coffin strapped to his back. The old library smelled like forgotten things: dust, dry glue, a faint tang of mildew that clung to the stacks like a skin. The door creaked shut behind him, a slow, groaning sigh that swallowed the city noise whole. He didn’t look up, just dragged his worn sneakers across the polished, gouged floorboards, his eyes fixed on the scuffs ahead. Another Tuesday, another failed attempt at staring down the blank page. He’d told himself this place, this cathedral of dead thoughts, held some secret. Some spark.
By HAADI17 days ago in Motivation
The Glass Petals
The woods had always been a good place to get lost. Silas preferred it that way. The city was a clamor, a relentless gnawing at his nerves, and the quiet of the pines, the rot of fallen leaves, that was his peace. Or what passed for it these days. His boots crunched through brittle undergrowth, a familiar, comforting sound, each step further from the ghost of his last mistake, his last broken promise. The sun, a pale, watery disc, struggled to penetrate the dense canopy, casting long, distorted shadows that stretched and swayed like grasping fingers.
By HAADI18 days ago in Horror
The Unwinding Hour
The autumn of nineteen-nineteen clung to the town like a damp shroud, the sort of chill that settled deep in your bones and refused to budge. Thomas, or what was left of him, felt it most in the phantom ache of his missing left arm. He'd come back from the Somme with half a body and a head full of ghosts, and the world had the gall to keep spinning forward, oblivious. Every street corner, every familiar face, seemed to him a silent accusation. He’d try to work in his father’s old carpentry shop, the scent of fresh-cut pine a cruel reminder of normalcy, but his good hand would tremble, the saw refusing to find purchase. He spent most days just walking, the click of his heavy boots on the cobbled lane the only rhythm he trusted.
By HAADI18 days ago in History
Moonlit Shards
The air in the kitchen was thick with the scent of burnt toast and unspoken words. Sarah picked at a chipped ceramic plate, pushing around the remains of her half-eaten dinner. Lily, across from her, was a statue carved from teenage angst, eyes glued to a phone screen, a faint blue glow illuminating the sharp angles of her jaw. The silence stretched, tight as a drum skin, ready to snap.
By HAADI18 days ago in Families
The Shard Keeper
It's just glass, really. But I call them flowers. Crystal flowers. Thousands of them, tucked away in this shed out back, where no one ever looks, where no one ever *will* look. They shimmer, you know, when the weak afternoon sun hits that crack in the corrugated steel, throwing slivers of light across them. They sparkle, each one cut, ground, polished, a sharp, perfect bloom. And each one, a goddamn lie.
By HAADI18 days ago in Confessions
The Last Line West
The air smelled like wet ash and old fear. Elias pulled Lily closer, her small hand like a bird's claw in his. She was quiet, too quiet, just staring at the behemoth of rusted steel that groaned on the tracks. The 'Last Hope,' some idiot had called it, spray-painted on the side in faded red, almost like a joke. Last hope for what? Last hope for *nowhere*. That’s what they’d all whispered, the hushed, ragged crowd pushing and shoving for a spot. He remembered the general’s speech, all bravado and empty promises. 'West,' he’d boomed, 'to safety.' Safety was a word that felt like a foreign language these days.
By HAADI18 days ago in Chapters
A Speck of Rust in the Blue
Blue. It wasn't a sad blue, not always. It was just... blue. Like the inside of an old tin can, or the exhaust fumes curling off the back of a refrigerated truck on a cold morning. That's how Arthur tasted it, felt it, lived it. A dull, metallic tang on his tongue, a low hum behind his eyes. He’d been driving rigs for twenty-seven years, every mile blurring into the next, every diner coffee tasting roughly the same, every conversation with a fuel stop cashier a recycled script. That taste, that relentless blue, had become the only flavor he knew.
By HAADI18 days ago in Lifehack
Whispers in an Ancient Library
Elara traced the spine of a book, her finger leaving a pale line in the thick dust. Her arthritis hummed a low complaint in her knuckles, a familiar ache. Another Tuesday afternoon in the stacks. Thomas, her husband of forty-two years, was a shadow at the far end of the aisle, lost in the brittle pages of some medieval tome. The air in the old city library was always the same: dust motes suspended in the weak light from the tall, arched windows, the faint, comforting scent of aging paper and something else, something metallic and cold, like forgotten iron. She’d come here every Tuesday and Thursday since she retired, not because she loved the musty quiet, but because he was here. He always was.
By HAADI18 days ago in Marriage
Neon Ghost
Vinny huddled deeper under the grimy awning of the shuttered hardware store. Rain lashed down, a cold sheet hitting the pavement, exploding into a million tiny splashes. The street was a smear of red and blue and sickly green, the neon from the noodle shop across the alley bleeding into the puddles. He watched it swirl, those garish colors, like some kind of poisoned oil slick. His breath plumed in the cold, tasted like cigarettes and old fear. His hands, shoved deep into his pockets, were clammy even in the chill. God, he hated this rain. Hated the way it muffled sounds, made every shadow seem to stretch and twist.
By HAADI18 days ago in Criminal