Author: neeltheauthor
neelwrites/fierylove/ThreeLineTales/fiction/fiction/50words/17/08/2017
Three Line Tales, Week 81
Hosted by Sonya at https://only100words.xyz/2017/08/17/three-line-tales-week-81/#comment-29303
FIERY LOVE
photo by Cathal Mac an Bheatha via Unsplash
By Neel Anil Panicker
“How on earth could a man who’s so madly in love with his wife throw her into a burning oven?”
‘Well, well. Even I find that hard to believe though how I wish he were simply humanly and not madly in love with her.
Then he wouldn’t have done what he did, isn’t it?.’
©neelanilpanicker2017 #ThreeLineTales #fiction #50words
neelwrites/she’sgottheblues/FF/fiction/16/08/2017
FRIDAY FICTIONEERS hosted by the prima donna of short fiction Rochelle at
SHE’S GOT THE BLUES
(genre: historical fiction)
PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
By Neel Anil Panicker
A week ago Asha watched on TV the heart wrenching visuals of countless Blue Whales swept ashore, their glistening gargantuan lifeless forms on the sandy ocean bed.
Quite a few had turned this vista into a photo-op, clicking selfies while poking, nudging, pricking at the creatures in a misplaced show of braggadocio.
Watching the horrific grainy images, Asha had dropped more than a tear,
her heart breaking out in silent prayers for the departed.
A week later it was revenge time; the blue whales played a game on her only son.
A mother paid the price for a son’s hubris.
©neelanilpanicker2017 #FF #fiction #she’sgottheblues #100words
HISTORICAL BACKGROUND
Blue Whale (game)
The Blue Whale Game (Russian: Синий кит, Siniy kit) also “Blue Whale Challenge”, is an Internet “game” that is claimed to exist in several countries. The game allegedly consists of a series of tasks assigned to players by administrators during a 50-day period, with the final challenge requiring the player to commit suicide.[1][2] The term “Blue Whale” comes from the phenomenon of beached whales, which is linked to suicide.
Blue Whale began in Russia in 2013 with “F57”, one of the names of the so-called “death group” of the VKontaktesocial network,[3] and allegedly caused its first suicide in 2015.[4][5] Philipp Budeikin, a former psychology student who was expelled from his university, claimed that he invented the game. Budeikin stated that his purpose was to “clean” the society by pushing to suicide those he deemed as having no value.[
neelwrites/forbiddenfruits/FFfAW/16/08/2017
FORBIDDEN FRUITS
This week’s photo prompt is provided by artycaptures.wordpress.com. Thank you artycaptures!
By Neel Anil Panicker
Don Afzal Bhai was thankful the room was sound proof. He had ensured that.
That way when hard leather connected with soft skin and the shrieking and the wailing and the crying and the pleading commenced, it stayed and died within its four walls.
And as the hour rolled over into the next and the shrieks and wails gave way to soft whispered oohs and aahs, a whiff of fresh jasmine wafted around the exquisitely decked up curtained room that boasted of soft low lights peeping out of highly ornate wooden lampshades that otherwise would have enjoyed pride of place in a millionaire’s abode.
Placed at the four corners abutting the master bed that spread out invitingly like the spiralling waters of a giant oceanic wave full of froth and fury, the lights served another larger purpose.
Its beams fell directly on the massive master bed where lay the most feared mafia don of Old Delhi, naked like a new born, eyes shut, body and mind long lost to the sensual and sexual charms of the woman booby strapped to his body.
FFfAW Challenge-Week of August 15, 2017
Hosted by PJ at https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2017/08/14/fffaw-challenge-week-of-august-15-2017/
neeelwrites/thedon’snest/parttwelveofdangerouslove/fiction/novella/16/08/2017
THE DON’S NEST ( PART TWELVE- DANGEROUS LOVE)
By Neel Anil Panicker
Don Afzal Bhai was thankful the room was sound proof. He had ensured that.
That way when hard leather connected with soft skin and the shrieking and the wailing and the crying and the pleading commenced, it stayed and died within its four walls.
And as the hour rolled over into the next and the shrieks and wails gave way to soft whispered oohs and aahs, a whiff of fresh jasmine wafted around the exquisitely decked up curtained room that boasted of soft low lights peeping out of highly ornate wooden lampshades that otherwise would have enjoyed pride of place in a millionaire’s abode.
Placed at the four corners abutting the master bed that spread out invitingly like the spiralling waters of a giant oceanic wave full of froth and fury, the lights served another larger purpose.
Its beams fell directly on the massive master bed where lay the most feared mafia don of Old Delhi, naked like a new born, eyes shut, body and mind long lost to the sensual and sexual charms of the woman booby strapped to his body.
The woman, who matched the don every single measurable inch in nakedness, boldness, and naughtiness, was no ordinary woman. She was the Don’s mistress, his favourite stress buster, the one who’s job it was to ensure his physical welfare.
Over the past decade or so, she performed her duties with a rare aplomb,
gaining besides Afzal Bhai’s trust and continued, a few prime properties in the heart of Lucknow, the place from where she originally hailed.
‘Ah, the pleasures of life’, Afzal Bhai moaned as expert hands worked their magic on his massive oak of a body, pressing a vein here, pulling and pushing a limb there, sending pulsating throbs of sheer pleasure scurrying through his loins.
‘Will you be staying over tonight, sanam,’ she asked, caressing his moustache strewn lips with a bunch of ripened berries, her hands finding solace deep down his lumbar regions.
Like a supremely satisfied cat having smacked clean all the milk, and now spread-eagled on all her fours, Afzal Bhai smiled satisfactorily as he pondered over the question.
Not a bad idea. There wasn’t much business to conduct early in the morning. The durbar could be postponed by an hour or two.
He was about to say yes when Salim’s words of last night reverberated in his ears.
“Boss, he’s trouble. Big time trouble. Ali’s bail application is due for hearing any day.
You need to do something fast. We don’t have much time on our hands”.
Three hours later, when he pushed aside the iron sliding gates of the third floor corner house appropriately christened Jannat Jahan, he was a changed man. Almost magically, his walk had turned sanguine, his kohl lined eyes had a fierce glow to it and as the noontime sun shone brightly on his jet black Mercedes, he slipped inside it through the half opened door, ensconcing himself comfortably in its plush interiors.
Looking over at Salim, who as his wont, was seated in the front seat, he barked “Ali mustn’t reach the court. Kill the bastard before that, preferably inside Tihar Jail.”
©neelanilpanicker2017#parttwelveofadangerouslove#FFFaW#fiction#527
DEAR READERS/WRITER FRIENDS INTERESTED IN READING THE EARLIER PARTS KINDLY CLICK ON THE LINK BELOW
For PART ONE
For PART TWO:
PART THREE: https://neelwritesblog.wordpress.com/2017/07/30/neelwritessundayphotofiction03ofdangerouslove30072017/
PART
FOUR https://neelwritesblog.wordpress.com/2017/08/01/neelwritespart/
PART FIVE https://neelwritesblog.wordpress.com/2017/08/01/neelwritessixsentencestoriesepisodesixofdangerouslovefiction/
PART SIX
https://neelwritesblog.wordpress.com/2017/08/03/neelwriteswatcherfictionthursdayphotoprompt03082017/
PART SEVEN https://neelwritesblog.wordpress.com/2017/08/05/neelwritesgaffarmian-alifeoutsideprisonwallsthreelinetalesfiction188words/
PART EIGHT https://neelwritesblog.wordpress.com/2017/08/08/neelwritescatsoutofthebagfffpppart8ofdangerouslovefiction08082017/
PART TEN https://neelwritesblog.wordpress.com/2017/08/12/neelwritesalonelyvigilparttenofadangerouslovefiction35812082017/
PART ELEVEN https://neelwritesblog.wordpress.com/2017/08/15/neelwritesthedisclosurespfpartelevenofdangerouslove15082017/
