A VERY COLD PLAN
By Neel Anil Panicker
Richard rubbed the palms of his hands in a vain attempt to generate some heat as he edged past the main gates of the sprawling heavily wooded park.
An icy blast of cold frigid air greeted his arrival.
For a moment he stood transfixed, rendered temporarily immobile, as the full fury of Delhi’s mid-December wintry mornings smashed onto him. He felt the cold, slimy and snake like, slither into his innards, infiltrating every single hollow and crevice of his six foot tall frame which was wrapped in three layers of heavy woollen clothing.
His eyes, by no teary with mist, vainly bored through the murk.
He could see the silhouette of a giant gulmohar tree staring out at him.
Richard felt a cold chill run down his spine as he locked eyes with the large pockmarked trunk, now completely bathed in white, its many branches dropping from the skies, the twigs hanging out like near endless white nails.
The scary vision reminded him of the bed time stories that his grandmother unfailingly narrated him as a child come sundown.
Enunciated with a distinctive twang and with the appropriate intonations and modulations, all delivered in a deadpan poker face, each story had a ghost as its central character, an evil spirited 100-year-old mysterious white haired long nosed long nailed
apparition that sprang up from all nooks and corners and as mysteriously disappeared into them but not before littering the path behind her in human blood.
“This is not time to be scared of some non-existent ghost especially when he was planning something big”, Richard psyched himself before heading forward for a round around the ten kilometre long circular park.
A good fifteen and two rounds later, Richard felt better; his insides warm and his mind relaxed.
He spotted an empty bench at a secluded outer curve. Now, all alone to himself with nothing but the occasional cooing of a cuckoo from a nearby tree and a gentle breeze kissing his frosty cheeks, he mulled over the future course of action.
True, she was his wife but sure, she was a pain.
In fact more than a pain. She, he reflected, had made his life a living hell. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Who was that wise ass who said that? He racked his brains hard to find a name but soon gave up.
Well, for a change the tables are going to change.
Hell hath no fury like a man wronged.
He was the wronged one in this relationship. And she would pay for that. Pay heavily.
She would pay with her life, Richard surmised.
How, when and where?
These were now merely logistics whose answers he would surely arrive at.
Maybe one more round of the park would do the trick.
With that thought in mind, Richard sprang up from the bench and raced ahead, this time purposefully.
©neelanilpanicker2017#shortstory#flash#fiction #ThursdayPhotoPrompt #481words