neelwrites/cat’soutofthebag/FFfPP/part8ofdangerouslove/fiction/08/08/2017

FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER- 2017: WEEK #30

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CAT’S  OUT OF THE BAG?

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By Neel Anil Panicker

Ali struck out the back of his palm and squatted a mosquito that had settled on his bare legs.

The standard issue prison uniforms were too short for his six foot tall frame. The half length cotton trousers barely reached below his knees. This coupled with a half sleeved collarless shirt made his body a healthy hunting ground for a swarm of blood sucking mosquitoes who lorded over the hapless prison inmates and attacked with a sadistic delight only seen in hardened criminals. It was ironical to see mere flies practicing their deadly skills on hardened prisoners who in the outside world were capable of putting the fear of the devil in the minds of fellow human beings.

Al, the master criminal was slowly getting to learn that the nuts and bolts of prison life were quite different from the world that he came from.

A slight vibration tingled his bones under the trouser pockets.

Ali looked around at his prison mate. He was lost to sleep.

He looked past his cell gate into the long corridor that loomed ahead. It was pitch dark. Not a soul in sight. He strained his ears against the iron bars. Not a single sound either.

It was two hours past midnight. Still a few hours before the change of shift.

The inmates, the guards…everyone was in sleep mode.

Stealthily, he retreated to his corner space and crouching against the wall, retrieved the phone from his inner pocket and then pressed the green button.

The phone came alive in an instant.

“How are you, Ali Bhai?” It was Moosa’s, the man with the whisky scarred voice.

Only Moosa addressed him as Ali Bhai. For all others he was simply Al.

Moosa’s was the first and only voice he had heard from among the gang members ever since his incarceration.

‘You know me, Moosa Bhai. I am an action guy. Can’t sit alone for long.

This jail thing is so boring.’

“Have patience, bhai. It’s just a matter of time.”

A matter of time, bullshit. Today is my  fifteenth night in this God forsaken place. The maximum I have ever been in prison.

As if reading his thoughts Moosa answered, “I know, dear. Usually we are out by a week.”

‘Moosa, I’m losing it. I feel trapped here.’

“Ali Bhai, I feel for you. I wish you were outside; that we were together, zipping off to the countryside__chatting, binging on movies, gorging on aloo paranthas, gulping whisky…VAT 69, you know …

The thought of what he was missing made downed Al’s moods further.

‘I wish the same, Moosa Bhai. I wish I were outside. I wish I were with Liza.’

The phone went silent for a second.

All Al could hear was the uneven, slow snoring sound of his fellow inmate.

“Are you alone there, Ali? Is there anyone around?”

‘I am alone. You can speak. What’s the matter, bhai?’

“I’m hearing something. There are rumours…whispers actually.”

Al pressed his ears to the phone.

‘About what? About who?’

“About You. About you  and Liza.”

‘What exactly did you hear?’

“Can’t really say. Just a hunch.”

‘Just what’s it, Moosa? Spit it out.’

“Just a conversation. Over the phone. Yesterday…while entering the den…”

The den? Ali knew he was referring to Afzal Bhai, their boss’ private room, the one inside which his boss confabulated with only his very trusted men.

‘The den? What did you hear, bhai?’

“Boss had called me about the Dwarka case. He was just ending a phone call. I just heard a few bits…just snatches of it…his last words caught my ear…They were “you don’t spite the hand that serves you” and then… “ I will teach the bastard a lesson he will never forget”.

Sheer cold wave ran through Ali’s spine. He felt a stab of pain in his chest as slow beads of perspiration began to form on his temples.

‘Did he mention a name? Was he referring to anyone?’

“No. He just slammed the phone down when he heard my footsteps.”

‘What do you think? Is it about Liza and me? Does he know about us? Is that what he was referring to?’

“I don’t know. I can find out if you want. But in the meantime, Ali, my bro, be careful. Be very careful.

Al wiped his sweaty hands across his face and said,

‘I will. I will for sure. Thanks, Moosa bhai.’

“Got to go now. Shall call you after I dig some more info, bye.”

As Al slid the phone back into his trousers, he looked upto to see his prison mate

smiling down at him.

It was a slow, hesitant curve of the lips, and in the dead of the night,

it was enough to spur Al’s already racing heartbeats.

#neelanilpanicker2017 #parteightofdangerouslove #dangerouslove#fiction#cat’soutofthebag#795

DEAR READERS/WRITER FRIENDS INTERESTED IN READING THE EARLIER PARTS KINDLY CLICK ON THE LINK BELOW

For PART ONE

https://neelwritesblog.wordpress.com/2017/07/27/neelwritesffphoningaroundfictionromance100words27072017/

For PART TWO:

https://neelwritesblog.wordpress.com/2017/07/28/neelwrites3linetalesphoningaround-part2fiction28072017/

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/

 

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neelwrites/sundayscrawl#1/dangercalling/fiction/episode#01/750words/18/07/2017

Sunday Scrawl #1

 

STEPPING INTO DANGER

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By Neel Anil Panicker

As a child I loved walking the paths untrodden.

I remember the big, rectangular park adjacent to where we lived. It was grasssy, had more than a couple of swings, a long disused see saw and a big, spherical sand pit that was variously used__for long jumps and high jumps, free style wrestling, to build sand castles, and even as a place to pee come an exigency.

Well, this was the park that was peopled by all the children of our locality.

It was the place where all the children congregated after school hours; headed went to after their mothers, elder siblings, or maids, as may be the case, had stuffed their mouths with enough proteins and carbohydrates to help them last through the day, which as was more often the case, extended itself to long, langurous evenings, especially so during summer solstice.

Did I say all the children? Well almost all, but dfinitely not me.

I may have been barely ten or so but had known even back then the pleasures of exlporing unknown frontiers.

Off I would go ambling around and shuffling feet past the ever bustling bylanes of Patel Chowk, lazing around its myriad shops, gaping wide eyes at big monster petrol guzzling vehicles and at the even bigger billboards that advertised their worthiness, their oomphness, their desirability quotients.

My feet would drag around at narrow gulleys, around hole in the wall shops, my nostrils flaring up and my mouth salivating as I peeped into large steel tumblers in which swam like small baby elephants huge palm sized balls of sweet meat.

Gulab jamuns they were called, those spherical gastroniomic delights; their heavenly taste lasting for long; well after dusk had fallen and I was safely tucked in bed, the lights all out in our two roomed house where I lived with my parents.

It was during one such off beat trip around that I stumbled I bit too far from civilian surroundings and entered the forest and discovered the secret pathway.

I remember the day very well. It was a Saturday evening and my parents were at work. Left to myself and having got a bit bored of circumambulating the regular haunts, I had walked a little beyond, a a few fifty meters or so away from where I lived.

It was a slightly deserted place in that it led to a wooded area, one that was secluded by iron wires. A sign affixed to one of the poles that held them read, ”Forest area, entry restricted”.

The words caught my fancy. I had never seen a forest earlier and hence my curiosity upped.

What what really pushed me to action were the words “entry restricted”.

I read that as an inviolate order, a strict rule of law, a non negotiable command that brooked no

interference and therefore I decided to interfere.

Without thinking I slipped my four foot slender self through a gap between the wires and the ground.

At first looked it looked like no different from the small bush that stood adjacent to where our school was. I could see small light green shrubs protruding out from wet earth.

I looked ahead and saw some rocky outcrops.

I decided to explore further.  I stepped forward gingerly, careful not to fall and mindful of the uneven pebbles all around the grassy landscape.

By now I was past the rocks and the trees around me gradually thinned to reveal something that looked to me, far that I was, as some sort of a giant black pit.

Hacking my way through the overgrowth, I narrowed my eyes to get a better view.

Was it a black boulder or something else?

I turned around and near emptiness stared back at me.

All of a sudden a shard of light escaped through the branches and lit the area.

I looked once more at the spot and saw what it was: two small railway tracks that disappeared into a dark as hell tunnel above which stood a moss covered bridge.

A tunnel in the middle of a forest area? A fusillade of whos and whats and whys assailed my inquisite young mind as I stood there, transfixed, rooted to the ground, as if immobilised by an unknown enemy.

God knows for long I stood there but soon after, fully intrigued that I was,

I tiptoed towards it.

It was then that I heard them; the voices__they were human and, not very pleasant.

©neelanilpanicker  email:neelanilpanicker@gmail.com #fiction #sundayscrawl#1  #episode#01

For more such lovely stories click on the blue frog below:

https://emilyweatherburnblog.wordpress.com/2017/07/16/sundayscrawl-1-shadow/