HAADI

Joined November 2025

372 stories

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Dark Side Of Our Society

Stories (372)

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The Last Postman of the Void. AI-Generated.
The title was official: Interstellar Communications Officer, Grade 4. Everyone else called him the Postman. His name was Kaelen, and his ship, the Distant Echo, was the smallest and oldest vessel in the Fleet. While admirals commanded dreadnoughts and scientists studied nebulae, Kaelen’s duty was simpler, and infinitely heavier.
By HAADI3 months ago in Humans
The Archive of Fading Dreams. AI-Generated.
Most people consider dreams to be ephemeral things—beautiful, strange, or terrifying fictions that evaporate with the dawn. But Elara knew the truth. Dreams are not fiction. They are the soul's unedited diary, its rawest hopes and most profound fears. And when a dream is forgotten, a tiny, essential piece of a person's potential is lost forever.
By HAADI3 months ago in Humans
The Clockmaker's Final Ticking. AI-Generated.
The bell above the door of "Chronos & Son" didn't just tinkle; it chimed with the precise, melancholic tone of a clock striking the hour in a forgotten century. Inside was a labyrinth of time. Grandfather clocks stood like silent sentinels, their pendulums still. Shelves were crammed with carriage clocks, cuckoo clocks, and wristwatches, all frozen in a perpetual state of "almost working."
By HAADI3 months ago in Humans
The Gardener of Starlight. AI-Generated.
The astronomers called it the "Great Dimming." Across the galaxy, stars were winking out, not in the violent fury of a supernova, but with a quiet, pathetic sigh. Their light was simply… fading. Theories abounded: dark matter, a cyclical universe, a flaw in the laws of physics itself. Panic was a quiet hum in the background of every news feed.
By HAADI3 months ago in Humans
The Mender of Broken Things. AI-Generated.
In a small, dusty shop tucked away on a quiet street, there lived an old man named Felix. The sign above his door read simply, "Mender of Things," and it was a title he took with profound seriousness. People brought him their broken treasures: clocks that had forgotten how to tick, music boxes that had lost their song, toys that had been loved into disrepair.
By HAADI3 months ago in Humans
The Cartographer of Forgotten Paths. AI-Generated.
In a quiet studio above a bakery, where the air always smelled of cinnamon and old paper, lived an old man named Elian. He was the Cartographer of Forgotten Paths, and his life's work was mapping the unmappable: the choices unmade, the roads not taken.
By HAADI3 months ago in Humans
The Undertaker of Forgotten Stories. AI-Generated.
In a small, dusty office at the end of a quiet street, there was a man named Silas who performed a unique and somber service. He was an undertaker, but not for the dead. He was the Undertaker of Forgotten Stories.
By HAADI3 months ago in Humans
The Keeper of Lost Time. AI-Generated.
In a quiet, cobblestoned alley that seemed to exist between the ticks of a clock, there was a shop called "The Chronos Retreat." Its keeper, an old man named Alistair, was a collector of a most peculiar sort. He was the Keeper of Lost Time.
By HAADI3 months ago in Humans
The Starlight Weaver. AI-Generated.
In a remote village nestled high in the mountains, where the air was thin and the sky was a vast, black canvas, lived a woman named Lyra. She was the last of the Starlight Weavers, a lineage of artisans who practiced an art as old as the first human to look up in wonder.
By HAADI3 months ago in Humans
The Gardener of Last Light. AI-Generated.
The Great Dimming did not happen quickly. It was a slow, agonizing fade, as if the sun itself was growing tired. The vibrant blues of the sky washed out to a perpetual, gloomy grey. The greens of the forests dulled to brown, then to a brittle black. A deep, planetary chill began to set in. Panic was a quiet, cold dread in the heart of every living thing.
By HAADI3 months ago in Earth
The Dreamtailor. AI-Generated.
In the quietest hour of the night, when the moon was high and the world was asleep, an old man named Elias went to work. He was a Dreamtailor, the last of his kind, and his workshop was a place that existed just on the other side of consciousness.
By HAADI3 months ago in Humans
The Map of Whispers. AI-Generated.
Most people navigated the city with GPS, following the cold, efficient logic of satellites and algorithms. Anya used a different map. Hers was a large, blank sheet of vellum, aged and soft, that she carried under her arm. To anyone else, it was empty. To Anya, it was the most detailed chart in existence. It was her Map of Whispers.
By HAADI3 months ago in Earth