Six sentences,  any genre, link thurs a.m. and hop, link and hop…


This week’s cue is LINK


By Neel Anil Panicker

Inspector Sharma moved away from the dinner table and was now intently studying a Raja Verma nude oil painting mounted on the walls just above the liquor cabinet, desperately trying to decipher the inexorable link between the kings of yore and their ever pliant subjects.

“What were you doing between the ten and eleven on Sunday night when the murders are believed to have been committed”?

The question seemed to have caught Ram Bahadur by surprise and a shiver of fear ran down his spine; his already droopy old man’s eyes further wilting under the penetrative gaze of the senior cop.

‘I…I…was here Sir, very much here, serving food to Gulati Sir and Madam.’

The air around the curvaceous hall suddenly grew dense as a wry smile formed around Inspector Sharma’s whisker-ringed lips.

The postmortem report had categorically mentioned the Gulatis had not eaten a single morsel of food for at least six hours prior to their violent deaths.

©neelanilpanicker2017 #sixlinetales #fiction  #158words




Six sentences, no more and certainly no less*

Any genre**

Use this week’s  cue  : LIFT any way you like***

Post, read, hop, repeat****


By Neel Anil Panicker

The first time they locked eyes it was in an office lift.

She had just graduated from B-school and was running late for what was her first job interview; he was checking in early having nothing better to do.

She sailed through the interview; he her interviewer.

Thereafter, they exchanged numbers and a little later, their first kiss,

where else but in the same lift.

And when they decided to do what those in love love to do, it was but (pun intended) in the lift.

Pity they found soon enough it was all just lust; physically they were jumping in and out, mentally they lived on entirely different floors.

©neelanilpanicker2017 #sixsentencestories #fiction #111words





By Neel Anil Panicker

For Anita life could be neatly divided into a before and an after.

In the before she was this inveterate prankster, ever effervescent and cheerful, drinking to her heart’s content life’s intoxicating nectar, rifling through life, studying, reading, sleeping and when awake, ever plotting, planning, devising one Machiavellian act after another, all pretty much harmless and expected of any pimply, gauche fifteen-year-old blessed with parents who would steal the moon for her.

But then fate struck its cruelest blow when one dark forlorn weather beaten night the world came crashing down on her; in a tragic car accident she lost the love of her lives, her dear parents.

For months thereafter, pushed to the brink of madness, she found herself locked inside her room, windows closed and curtains drawn, while her shell shocked heart drowned in a bottomless well of sadness.

Eons later when the tears had all dried and there were no further memories left for her to be buried, she got up, drew the curtains aside, opened the windows, and let the sun fall on her tear-swept once cherubic face.

This was her after; she resolved then and there that she was going to take charge of her life, was going to make the best of it, for herself and more importantly, for the sake of her loving parents whose dream it was that their only child one day grow up to be a global world peace leader.

#SIXSENTENCESTORIES #fiction #shortstory #240words



Image result for manchester attacks pix

By Neel Anil Panicker

My dear Lord, they say it’s all my fault; that I’m responsible for the monster that he’s turned out to be.

They tell me I should have been stern with him, taught him the difference between right and wrong, drilled into him important life skills, inculcated in him the values of goodness, the virtues of peace, love and universal brotherhood?

Gawd! They paint me as the villain.

Tell me, my Lord, what advice can a fifty-year-old dinosaur give (‘his words, not mine’) to one who claims to know all that needs to be known?”

Mercilessly they highlight the contrasts: I, the father, a God fearing, peace loving, humanity embracing man of prudence, a man blessed with education and a wealth of experience; he, the son, an acne scarred obnoxious eighteen-year-old, one who hated school, trolled his teachers and kicked  around kids younger than himself. One who ended up as a suicide bomber, a diabolically evil crazed boy who strapped a belt bomb to his chest and blew himself up besides over two dozen innocent music loving teenagers.

Of you, I ask, my Lord: what can a father do if there are other claimants, other masters of his only child?

©neelanilpanicker2017 #sixsentencestories #200words #fiction #shortstory



By Neel Anil Panicker  

“This Saturday evening at half past six when the party kicks off I want you moving around in the Grand Ball Room greeting dignitaries, chatting up celebs, hugging friends, French kissing acquaintances, even shaking hands with strangers, all this while holding a red coloured drink in your hand.

And I, from my fourteenth floor hotel window opposite the street shall keep vigil, telescopic gun in hand, awaiting the moment when you drop the glass onto the floor.

It’s my cue to shoot down the President.”

‘Just a small thing. Can I pick a different coloured drink? Red’s got blood written all over it.’

©neelanilpanicker2017 #sixsentencestories #fiction #100words



Richard Nixon and Elvis Presley (December 21, 1970)

Richard Nixon and Elvis Presley

By Neel Anil Panicker

“Mr Prez, I want to be a federal agent at large at the service of America, combating the menace of drugs.”

Nixon straightened his back, burrowed his heavily lined forehead, and stared out amusingly at the man who was attired as befitting a king, the strikingly royal purple velvet cape and the mop of long curly hair on his chiseled face serving further attenuating his majestic bearings.

“Drugs, our young are getting hooked on to it, killing themselves, and we are to be blamed for all this including to a large extent the Beatles”.

As the last word, uttered with more than a trace of venom, ricocheted off the high ceilinged walls of the Oval Office, the  two men as different from one another as chalk is to cheese, locked eyes for what seemed an eternity.

A while later, Richard Nixon, the 37th President of the United States of America, stepped forward and shook hands with Elvis Presley, the King of Pop.

America’s mega war against drugs had truly begun.

©neelanilpanicker2017  #wordcount :166  #historical fiction  #sixsentencestories


Richard Nixon didn’t exactly have a rock and roll persona, which is why the bizarre photograph of the president and “the King” getting all shook up in the Oval Office has become such a cultural icon. The handshake between the odd couple came about after Elvis Presley walked up to a security guard outside the White House that morning with a handwritten letter scribbled on American Airlines stationery. In the note to Nixon, Presley requested a presidential audience and expressed his desire to become a federal agent at large to combat drug abuse in America. A hastily arranged meeting was granted, and the King arrived in appropriately royal garb—a purple velvet cape—carrying a Colt .45 revolver as a gift for Nixon. The two men talked about drug policy, and the president nodded in agreement as Presley badmouthed the Beatles as anti-American. Before leaving, according to a White House memo, Presley, “in a surprising, spontaneous gesture, put his left arm around the President and hugged him.” That afternoon, Presley, who died of a drug overdose in 1977, received a badge from the Bureau of Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs.



By Neel Anil Panicker  (168 words)

“I am asking you one last time__is it a yes or no?”

He mulled that over while his hands turned moist, his heart beats jumping up and down like an unhinged yo yo; her palpitating breath on the other end of the line doing nothing to lessen the agony.

True, he liked her nee loved her, she being everything he had ever dreamt of in a girl but…

But what?

That she was a gorgeous looking ever bubbly girl with a great career ahead of her; or that she had a obnoxious snob of a stinking multi-millionaire for a/ father who thought of him as just another vermillion no gooder out to entrap his only daughter for the undreamt of riches that follow, or the fact that she wanted him to relocate to America so that “they could start life afresh away from this squalor and decay”.

After what seemed like a very long time he spluttered out the only words that he knew, chicken that he was__’No’.

(neelanilpanicker2017 #sixsentencestories #fiction

Welcome to Six Sentence Stories

MAY 3, 2017


This week’s cue is CHICKEN.

six sentences, any genre, use the cue somehow, post and link on Thursday, hop, hop, hop.