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

Sunday Photo Fiction – August 20th 2017

get the InLinkz code

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.”

+++

 

 

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

Three line tales week 80: a pizza oven

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

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/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/

 

neelwrites/stalker/sixsentencestories/16/07/2017

Six Sentence Stories Cue of the Week-MINE

Hosted by https://unchartedblogdotorg.wordpress.com/2017/08/13/six-sentence-stories-cue-of-the-week-7/

THE STALKER

By Neel Anil Panicker

The eyes turned a blazing orb of fire.

Hot molten rage surged through his veins.

Within moments, as his head bobbed like an unhinged ferris wheel, maddeningly hurtling around in topsy turvy frenzy, his body began convulsing and contorting, emitting blood, bile and sweat from every single pore of his six-foot tall muscular frame.

Shorn of all senses, he slashed around, the knife in his hands slicing and dicing, cutting and chopping into pieces his beloved.

It was her life he had snuffed out, she to whom he had professed his eternal love until his very last breath.

The ghastly deed over, he stood there in the middle of the rush hour traffic, the spectre of a crazed soul, screaming his lungs out, ‘she is mine and mine alone.’

©neelanilpanicker2017 #fiction #sixsentencestories #thestalker #133words

neelwrites/thedisclosure/SPF/partelevenofdangerouslove/15/08/2017

Hosted at https://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2017/08/13/sunday-photo-fiction-august-13th-2017/

get the InLinkz code

THE DISCLOSURE

208 08 August 13th 2017

By Neel Anil Panicker

“How would you like to die? Be deep fried in hot molten oil or mutton chopped into small little pieces to serve the gastronomic tastes of gourmands?”

‘What?’

Ali couldn’t believe his ears. It was his fourth week in Tihar Jail and he was on the phone with Liza and she was talking about death, his death.

“Yes, jaan. Get ready to die. Abbu is after your life.”

The name of the dreaded mafia don Abu Fazal sent a chill down his spine.

‘What?’

Jaan, our little secret is out. Abbu knows all about us. He’s making plans to kill you.”

Ali felt a lump form in his throat. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. Suddenly, the heat in his six by eight feet cell turned unbearable.

‘But how? How’s is it possible. How did you get to know?’

“I don’t know dear. Somebody’s ratted on us. I got to know about it last night. Like most other nights these past few weeks, ever since you’ve been in Tihar, sleep has become my enemy.

I was hungry and headed to the kitchen. Was passing by Abbu’s den when I heard voices from inside. It was Abbu. He was speaking to someone over the phone. I held my breath and cocked my ears to the door. It was then that I heard him say, “The bastard. I’ll teach that traitor a lesson he’ll never forget, even when interred in his grave. How dare he even look at my daughter. Kill him, Salim. I order you to make kheema of that bastard.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. My very own father ordering the murder of his only daughter’s lover?

My heart pounding and my head swirling like a typhoon, I somehow pulled myself away and tiptoed back to my room. Ali my dear, my love, my jaan, they are after you. He’s going to kill you, to kill me also if need be. I know him. He means what he says. I’m scared. I fear for you, for your safety. I can’t bear to think of a life without you…please my love, we need to do something…you need to do something…please…”

Ali heard footsteps approaching his barrack.

“Someone’s coming. Will call you later. Will do something…I promise…have faith, my love”.

©neelanilpanicker2017 #partelevenofadangerouslove#thedisclosure#379

 

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