FOWC with Fandango — Dry


By Neel Anil Panicker

‘Wht hppnd ? r u cmng?’

Detective Chacko rubbed his eyes as he stared blankly at the Whatsapp message that displayed on his smartphone.

It took awhile for his groggy self to realize what that meant and when he did so he wondered and not for the umpteenth time the entire month of October that now was on its last breath whether his hatred for technology and all that it stands for was after all not entirely unfounded.

‘It makes man servile. Also, at times an entire ass of himself’ was what he had declared to his Man Friday Bose in the middle of an excruciatingly long all night drinking cum eating binge (no less than an high octane extended orgy), after what was a particularly torturous month long police work, one wherein all efforts seemed to have reached a dead end.

What time is it he wondered as he hoisted himself up on the bed even as his phone began to beep again.

He peered into the phone’s screen. The top right hand corner blinked 14:00.

Dammit, he muttered under his breath even as he clicked on the green button.

“Guess you forgot yet again.”‘

The voice on the other end sounded definitely young, gentle, soft, even cuddly
___all things that were anathema to him, all things he had had buried long, long ago, all things that e knew only lead to pain; yet, paradoxically all things he now longed for, all things he knew were missing in his despicable life, and all things he knew would keep him sane, would stop him from finding himself a mental asylum much like his father several aeons ago.

‘Twenty minutes. I’m coming’.

Even before he ended the call, he’s had hauled himself from bed and was heading towards the bathroom.

Five minutes later Chacko was in his car and driving towards Tripunithara, his mind already feeling as free as a bird.







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