neelwrites/gazingintoastarryreality/fiction/SPF/20/08/2017

Sunday Photo Fiction – August 20th 2017

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Hosted by J Hardy at https://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2017/08/20/sunday-photo-fiction-august-20th-2017/ 

GAZING INTO A STARRY REALITY

209 08 August 20th 2017

By Neel Anil Panicker

My name is Galileo.

Galileo who? Galileo what? Did I hear you say?

Well, not surprising, though.

In this fast paced emoji driven, information pumping adrenaline high robotic age whoever has the time for digging out relics of some hoary past?

Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m the one to whom is attributed the famous phrase Eppur si muove.  It refers to my claim that it’s the Earth that revolves around the Sun and not the other way around.

Big deal, you might say.

But I tell you, in my day around 500 years ago what I said was considered a sacrilege.

The omnipotent, omniscient custodians of the Church (read God) took serious umbrage to my utterances.

I was incarcerated in a deep dungeon, and made to drink poison.

Hey, why am I telling you these things? It’s a story long interred and buried in the dustbin of history?

Right?

Well, folks, I’m doing this so you and the generations that would follow yours learn to stand up to all manner of wrongs and injustices perpetuated in this world in the name of God, that you understand there can exist a happy marriage between science and morality devoid of mass hatred fueled by religious bigotry.

(neelanilpanicker2017 #spf #fiction #200words

BACKGROUND: And yet it moves

“Eppur si muove” redirects here. For other uses, see Eppur si muove (disambiguation).

And yet it moves” or “Albeit it does move” (ItalianE pur si muove or Eppur si muove [epˈpur si ˈmwɔːve]) is a phrase attributed to the Italian mathematician, physicist and philosopher Galileo Galilei (1564–1642) in 1633 after being forced to recant his claims that the Earth moves around the immovable[1] Sun rather than the converse during the Galileo affair.[2]

In this context, the implication of the phrase is: despite his recantation, the Church’s proclamations to the contrary, or any other conviction or doctrine of men, the Earth does, in fact, move (around the Sun, and not vice versa). As such, the phrase is used today as a sort of pithy retort implying that “it doesn’t matter what you believe; these are the facts.”

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neelwrites/she’sgottheblues/FF/fiction/16/08/2017

FRIDAY FICTIONEERS hosted by the prima donna of short fiction Rochelle at

18 August 2017

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)

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

The Blue Whale Game (RussianСиний 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//it’sabouttime/whatpegmansaw/13/08/2017

WHAT PEGMAN SAW

Pena, Portugal

IT’S ABOUT TIME

GENRE: HISTORICAL FICTION

By Neel Anil Panicker

A woman’s face etched in a beatific smile and holding in her arms a barely three-month-old baby girl greets Emily.

A tear drops from her eyes as she places in her pint sized bag the sepia tinged black and white photograph, the sole reminder of the only family she ever had.

Outside, she cranes her neck upwards and peers into the sky.

The bright orb of fire sends a pleasant tingling sensation surging through her veins, warming the cockles of her heart.

‘But why’s there no blast? Why the delay?’

Emily wrings her hands anxiously and peers yet again into the sky.

Slowly, as if goaded by the power of her unflinching eyes, the clouds give way and bright dazzling rays sparkle onto the earth.

And then as if in pronouncement, a huge ear splitting sound blasts through the atmosphere.

It is the sundial’s cannon ball strike signalling noon time.

It’s also the prompt for her to head for the main road.

There awaits Francis, the love of her life, the liberator of her soul.

©neelanilpanicker2017 #whatpegmansaw #fiction #pena,Portugal

neelwrites/it’stime/whatpegmansaw/historicalfiction/13/08/2017

WHAT PEGMAN SAW

Pena, Portugal

Hosted by the wonderful H Hardy Carroll at

Pena, Portugal

To enjoy stories inspired by the What Pegman Saw prompt or to submit your own 150-word story, visit the inLinkz button:

IT’S ABOUT TIME

GENRE: HISTORICAL FICTION

Image result for sundial, PENA, PORTUGAL

By Neel Anil Panicker

 

IT’S ABOUT TIME

GENRE: HISTORICAL FICTION

A woman’s face etched in a beatific smile and holding in her arms a barely three-month-old baby girl greets Emily.

A tear drops from her eyes as she places in her pint sized bag the sepia tinged black and white photograph, the sole reminder of the only family she ever had.

Outside, she cranes her neck upwards and peers into the sky.

The bright orb of fire sends a pleasant tingling sensation surging through her veins, warming the cockles of her heart.

‘But why’s there no blast? Why the delay?’

Emily wrings her hands anxiously and peers yet again into the sky.

Slowly, as if goaded by the power of her unflinching eyes, the clouds give way and bright dazzling rays sparkle onto the earth.

And then as if in pronouncement, a huge ear splitting sound blasts through the atmosphere.

It is the sundial’s cannon ball strike signalling noon time.

It’s also the prompt for her to head for the main road.

There awaits Francis, the love of her life, the liberator of her soul.

©neelanilpanicker2017 #whatpegmansaw #fiction #pena,Portugal

neelwrites/highplaceofsacrifice/whatpegmansaw/abloodyworship/historicalfiction/08/07/2017

WHAT PEGMAN SAW

Petra, Jordan

A superb fictional travel photo prompt that the wonderful K Rawson challenges us with on a weekly basis  at

Petra, Jordan

A BLOODY WORSHIP

Genre: Historical Fiction

Image result for human sacrifice, petra, jordan

By Neel Anil Panicker

Om couldn’t believe his eyes __a hand levelled rocky expanse stared at him.

After a memorable night at the Theater and the Street of Facades, was this really the promised ‘Big One’.

 “And to think that I climbed 800 sign posted steps up a rocky slope for this?” he chided himself.

As if reading his thoughts, Derek, his Australian friend, uttered, “You seem not too happy, mate. Wait till I show you something”.

 “Now what’s that?”, inquired Derek, irritation creeping into his tone.

 “See that raised platform over there,” said his friend, pointing to the left.

Om’s eyes followed the lowered fingers.

Perched on a cliff a heart stopping 170 metres below them was an altar.

There were over a dozen of these, all around 15 m long and 6 m wide. Each altar, set up on four steps, had a wash basin to one side.

“That’s the High Place of Sacrifice. The wash basins drain out the blood which then runs down the mountains. And some of them are of humans.”

(neelanilpanciker2017 #whatpegmansaw#historicalfiction#highplaceofsacrifice

Image result for human sacrifice, petra, jordan

HISTORICAL BACKGROUND:

The main alter was for the burnt sacrifice. It contains several small steps and a niche where the fire could have been used. However, there are no evidences of fire at their altar or the other altars around Petra. Built into the two altars are wash basins.

Were there ever human sacrifices at Petra? There is no hard evidence but there is a Nabataean inscription at Meda’in Salehwhich reads “abd-Wadd, priest of Eadd, and his son Salim, and Zayd-Wadd, have consecrated the young man Salim to be immolated to Dhu Gabat.

Their double happiness. The god Al Uzza is also known to have received the sacrifice of boys and girls. In particular, the pagan philosopher Porphyrius states that once a year a boy’s throat was sacrificially cut at the oasis of Dumat some two hundred miles from Petra.

neelwrites/whatpeg mansaw/blackisbackandhow!/historicalfiction/30/07/2017

WHAT PEGMAN SAW

Cape Town, South Africa

Thanks to K Rawson for hosting this wonderful weekly flash fiction challenge at

Cape Town, South Africa

To enjoy stories inspired by the What Pegman Saw prompt or to submit your own 150-word story, visit the inLinkz button:

BLACK IS BACK AND HOW!

Genre:historical fiction

Image result for CAPE TOWN HALL SPEECH OF NELSON MANDELA

 

By Neel Anil Panicker

Amandla! Amandla! i-Afrika, mayibuye!  

Cliff Andrews elbowed his way ahead, to near the front steps of the Town Hall.

It means Power!Power! Africa it is ours!, his local aide cum photographer Desmond Steines responded.

Earlier in the day, Cliff, had flown in from Washington and contacted the ever smiling Des, whose darkish features lit up like a 400 watt bulb, the  black button eyes shining like diamonds in the dark, on being told about the assignment.

 “Des, this is big. The guy’s back from prison. Get some close ups. Really tight, buddy. We need to catch him in action, ” were the last bits of advice the senior newsman manning the Africa desk of the New York Times handed out before the two stepped out of the nondescript third floor hotel room and into the mid summer madness that had enveloped all of Pretoria.

Four hours later, back in his hotel room, Cliff’s Remington typewriter banged out the words, “The ANC tri-colour flew high in Cape Town today, the black at its top defiantly jutting out into the dark African sky. The fight for freedom is not yet over; it’s just begun, so said Nelson Mandela who looked …”

©neelanilpanciker2017 #whatpegmansay  #historicalfiction  #nelsonmandela #anc #africa

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HISTORICAL BACKGROUND:

From racial segregation to global inspiration

Nelson Mandela lived one of the most remarkable lives of the 20th Century. Born in an era of racial segregation and oppression in South Africa, he made it his life’s mission to fight for an equal and democratic society in his country.

After 27 years in jail, Mandela helped prevent civil war and became South Africa’s first black president. By the time of his death he’d become a renowned statesman and global icon. Discover how Mandela went from prison cell to presidential office.

For more information you may click on this link http://www.bbc.co.uk/timelines/ztd26sg

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neelwrites/bogota/whatpegmansaw/150words/fiction/08/07/2017

WHAT PEGMAN SAW

Bogota, Columbia

Hosted by J Hardy at

Bogota, Columbia

SHOOTING PRACTICE 

(GENRE: HISTORICAL FICTION)

Silva House of Poetry - Honoring a Colombian legend

By Neel Anil Panicker

 “¿Podría decirme la ubicación exacta del corazón?”

Dr Juan Camilo, senior cardiologist at Santa Barnara Medical Center couldn’t  believe what he had just heard.

True, in his almost four decade old career he had had patients who made all kinds of demands, bizarre requests, a few outright stupid, and one absolutely insane: ‘Doc, can you stop my heart for ten minutes. I want to experience what it means to die.’

But this one was different, especially so as it came from a person whom all of Bogota nee Columbia respected nee revered to the point of veneration.

He mulled over the entreaty for a moment and then replied, “Claro, si insistes”

The tall young man’s eyes lit up and he replied, “Muchas gracias, doctor.”

 

It was a decision that the renowned doctor would regret for the rest of his life.

The following day’s newspapers reported the tragic death of  José Asunción Silva, the cause, a single bullet shot through the heart.

©neelanilpanicker2017 #historicalfiction #whatpegmansaw #email:neelanilpanicker@gmailcom #161words

(HISTORICAL BACKGROUND)

José Asunción Silva (27 November 1865 in Bogotá – 23 May 1896 in Bogotá) was a Colombian poet. He is considered one of the founders of Spanish–American Modernism.

On the morning of 24 May 1896, a housemaid found Asunción Silva dead in his bed with a gun near his body; he had shot himself in the heart the night before. There are many reasons for his suicide, including the death of his sister Elvira, the loss of almost all his work when his ship sank near a quay in the Caribbean sea, and his debts. Prior to his death, he asked his doctor confidentially to mark the exact location of his heart.

He was buried in the Central Cemetery in Bogotá. Perhaps his more important legacy is the house where he lived, which has been converted into a museum, the Silva Poetry House.[1]