neelwrites/acat’slife/FFfAW/flashfiction/shortstory/145words/05/12/2017

FFfAW Challenge-Week of December 5, 2017

Hosted by Priceless Joy at https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2017/12/04/fffaw-challenge-week-of-december-5-2017/

A CAT’S LIFE

photo-20171204154641645

This week’s photo prompt is provided by Enisa. Thank you Enisa!

By Neel Anil Panicker

Inspector Sharma peeped in through the shattered glass panes.

A half eaten pizza, its edges smeared in blood, popped out of a Mcdonald’s take away box that rested on the plush seat covers.

The body lay slumped on the steering wheel, the hands loosened to the sides, the gun, a semi-automatic Colt, popping out of the jeans side pockets.

‘It looks like a gang war? Majid was a marked man.’

Inspector Sharma unburdened himself from the brand new Audi.

Why does this dimwit indulge his brain when he doesn’t have one.

“Pandey, arrange for the post-mortem immediately. Call forensics. I want every inch of space earched with a fine comb”.

‘Ok, Sir…sir…the cat…what do we do with it?’

Sharma turned around and looked at the front seat. She was still lost to the world.

“Don’t worry, she’s fine. She’s got many more lives to live”.

©neelanilpanicker2017 #FFfAW #fiction #flash #shortstory #145words

 

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neelwrites/dramornightmare/part28ofADANGEROUSLOVE/novella/fiction/02/12/2017

Three Line Tales, Week 96

Hosted by SONYA at  https://only100words.xyz/2017/11/30/three-line-tales-week-96/

DREAM OR NIGHTMARE?

three line tales week 96: an Iceland pony in the snow

By Neel Anil Panicker

Liza woke up in a daze, her mind unable to shake off the bizarre visions of a snowy white pony left out in the frosty high hills, its eyes frightened to death and weeping copious tears.

It was D-Day, the day when Ali would be in court, the day when all that she had worked towards must come to fruition, the day that would change her destiny __ hers and Ali’s .

Getting out of the bed, she walked towards the bathroom wondering whether the half formed dream was some sort of a subtle indicator,  an apocalyptic vision of how things would pan out in the hours to follow? Hunter, prey, or bait? What was it? And who was whom?

©neelanilpanicker2017 #PART 28 of A DANGEROUS LOVE #FICTION #NOVELLA #120 WORDS

neelwrites/apestymurder/FFfAW/flashfictio/inspectorsharmacrimeseries/28/11/2017

143rd Challenge

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

Week of 11-28 through 12-04-2017

by Priceless Joy at https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2017/11/27/fffaw-challenge-week-of-november-28-2017/

A PESTY MURDER   

By Neel Anil Panicker

“Sir, I, I …me…I mean I was here…about to enter the lift when…”

Crime Branch Senior Inspector Yashwant Sharma looked through his rimless oval glasses at the bumbling figure in from of him and wondered not for the first time that evening whether the man in front of him could be the killer or worse, did he have it in him to be the killer.

His brain screamed a big ‘NO’.

The man was a shade under five feet and was blessed with a body shape that looked like a cross between a scraped off chicken bone and an half-formed mouse from a laboratory experiment gone horribly wrong.

The woman, an Amazonian near six feet, was found dead on the bedroom floor, strapped to a steel chair, her hands tied to the back with thick plastic rope, her face a mashed potato.

It looked like someone had stomped all over her. And there was no way this

grasshopper of a man, her husband, could have done this deed, the wily cop surmised.

If so, then who?

Did he pay someone to kill her?

If not, then who else?

Inspector Sharma’s detective brain turned into a kite straining to break off its harness.

©neelanilpanicker2017 #FFfAW #fiction #flashfiction #inspectorsharmacrimeseries

 

neelwrites/livenbythesea,diebythesea/sundayphotofictioneer/flashfiction/shortstory/27/11/2017

Sunday Photo Fiction – November 26th 2017

Hosted by https://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2017/11/26/sunday-photo-fiction-november-26th-2017/

LIVE BY THE SEA, DIE BY THE SEA 

2018 11 November 26th 2017

By Neel Anil Panicker

Fighting through the ever darkening rays of the setting sun, Vardharajan watched intently at the swirling ocean waters as a massive tidal wave of memories soon deluged him.

It was some three score years ago. He had first set foot in Chennai. It was these very same waters that had brought him, a bare boned slip of a boy, barely five, holed up in the ship’s bottom deck, in a small six by six hole in the wall cheek a bowl with fiery red eyes rodents.

They had thrown him into the sea, giving him up for dead.

Three days later, his near still frame was washed ashore only to be discovered by some fishermen.

They had carried him over, nursed him back to health, and thereafter accepted him as a gift from Thanniyamma, the Sea Goddess, the protector and guardian of the se/ven seas.

With the passage of time, he had become one of them, learning and doing everything a fisherman does___ rising up much before dawn, then cleaning, scrubbing, oiling the boats in which he would later joining others into the sea casting wide nets, battling massive winds and storms, and returning back safe though bruised and battered, with the day’s booty__ a catch of sparkling fish that later he would help in selling off at the wholesale fish market.

The frames changed. He was a strapping young man and people were bowling to him, paying obeisance, pouring out their concerns, the poor and toiling masses, the very same clan that had rescued him from the seas, saved him from sure death, adopted him as one of their own, even giving him a name were now treating him as their Almighty, their saviour, their dear ‘son’ who was now Vardha Anna __feared by the lawmakers and scourge of the lawbreakers, a law unto himself, the undisputed mafia Don of Chennai City.

The shrill sound of police sirens closing him on him broke his thoughts. He needn’t have looked back. They were closing in. He knew it was over.

The curtains were coming down. Pitch darkness had descended all over. He barely made out the long golden arms of Thanniyamma beckoning him from the ocean waters.

She was smiling. He moved towards her, knowing she embrace him in her arms and put him to eternal sleep.

©neelanilpanicker2017 #fiction #sundayphotofictioneer #sea

neelwrites/night’svigil/thursdayphotoprompt/fiction/flash.25/11/2017

Thursday Photo Prompt HOSTED BY sue vincent

NIGHT’S VIGIL

By Neel Anil Panicker

Raymond looked down at his feet and kicked Jack’s once muscular body, now just a crumpled mass of tissue turned ‘cold as winter’.

It had taken him a good hour to get rid of his best buddy, and more specifically partner in crine.

Good riddance, he screamed out in gay abandon, a cry of unbridled joy, absolutely aware that standing where he was, at the promontory that stood atop a gargantuan rock at the extreme right edge of the mile long deserted beach, none would hear or even see him as far as the eye could see.

He flicked a Marlborough from his inner baggy pockets and cupping his large alligator hands struck a match as an icy wind swept by.

Three quick inhalations deep into his lungs and he was a calmed man.

Slowly his gaze lifted far into the sea towards a solitary speck of land__Sir Albert’s Island.

His wrinkled eyes sparkled with untinted joy.

He had made it. Well, almost.

Nearly five months of threadbare planning, three murders, a couple of shootouts, and a daring mid-day bank robbery later, he had managed to lay his hands on a pile of money.

The spoils of the day added upto a staggering five million American dollars.

He touched the peak of his felt hat in acknowldgement of the success of the mission.

It had been worth it, the sheer daredevilry, the bizarre risk of crash landing a two seater rented aircraft and hoisting his band of four robbers straight into the bank’s inner santum sanctorum, the exact hexagonal area where the huge vault lay, and then fighting and shooting their way out into freedom, the massive steel trunk full of hard cash acting as a much needed shield.

Raymond’s mind suddenly flicked back to the present. He had double crossed his way to a pot of money.

But knowing the ways of the Spanish Police well enough, he knew that if ever harboured any hopes of enjoying all that wealth he had to get to the island and thereafter beyond to be absolutely safe.

His mind went into a tailspin as he stared out into the ever darkening sea waters.

(c)neelanilpanciker2017 #fiction #flashfiction #ThursdayPhotoPrompt

neelwrites/theevidence/FF/fiction/flash/100words/23/11/2017

FRIDAY FICTIONEERS

Hosted by ROCHELLEWISOFF at https://rochellewisoff.com/2017/11/22/17-november-2017/comment-page-1/#comment-45352

THE EVIDENCE

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

by Neel Anil Panicker

Raphael rummaged through the attic drawer. He knew he had just about time before the police came.

Moth eaten files of long sold property deed facsimiles; half broken childhood toys; a long bladed steel knife of vintage origin that still carried slight traces of blood, a stark reminder of those halcyon decades when the much awaited weekend family sport was hunting down rabbits and wild boars.

Then he found it__ wedged between a headless Chinese doll and a much abused wicker basket lay the ring, Clare’s engagement ring, the one whose daughter he had just murdered.

©neelanilpanciker2017 #FF #fiction #flash #flashfiction #100words

neelwrites/getlost/whatpegmansaw/fiction/flash/shortstory/194words/22/11/2017

GET LOST mexico

By Neel Anil Panicker

Alfred smeared the sand off his eyes and looked upwards as the mid-summer July sun shone hard on his bald as an eagle plate.

Turning around, his groggy eyes swept past the sandy stretch, past the spartan rows of thatched dwellings, a lone leafless palm tree wedeged in between, beyond the solitary battered windowless vintage-era car that stood, its apology of a bonnet looking into the sea, its waves sprouting salty froth into the jagged rocks that fronted the mile long desolate beach.

It was then that he remembered where he was- San Jose’ el Huate, Chiapas, Mexico.

A slow smile creased his thick as a ‘Subway double decker chicken sandwich’ lip.

Not bad, he mused.

Not bad at all for a fifty-year-old master international swindler who’s just broken through the high security state prison at Sacramento, over a thouand miles away in distant California.

Al stood up and wiped the dirt off his legs; the earth, fifty feet under, housing his only wordly possession__a much used pure leather Samsonite bag that contained ten million American dollars.

(C)NEELANILPANICKER2017 #WHATPEGMANSAW #FLASHFICTION #SHORSTORY #194 WORDS

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