PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

By Neel Anil Panicker

Earlier it wasn’t so the case; she loved them, the winters. The luxuriously languorous all night slumber into la la land; the achingly slow waking up to the smell of hot as molten lava garden fresh coffee, the touch of warm veined fingers on frosty cheeks, the entwining of love filled hearts and lust filled bodies.

Aaah! she could go on and on and her dream would have no end.

But end it did.

And cruelly at that.

As she stares through the icicled sheets of coldness she wonders when love went of the window.

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PHOTO PROMPT © What’s His Name

By Neel Anil Panicker

A commode in the middle of the forest. Anwar stared at the faded bluish relic that seemed to have come straight from the Dark Ages.

Biological exigencies demanded he use it. He hacked his way past the thick foliage of forested outgrowth, slashing past gossamer spider webs.

Half dropping his pants, he was about to plonk himself onto the seat when he noticed the dehydrated puddle of urine on which floated small balls of human excreta, hair, even traces of blood.

Unmindful, Anwar eased himself into it.

Who says Reality TV winners ever had it easy.

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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.

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PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll


By Neel Anil Panicker

”Sir, I hadn’t intended it. The body was charred beyond recognition. I saw the gleaming metal and pocketed it.”

Fireman Mahendra Yadav shifted uneasily in his chair, his eyes darting around the semi-darkened basement room. Never in his scariest dreams had he ever imagined himself being locked up in a police station, and that too on the last day of his service.

“Was it on the middle finger”?


Inspector Sharma caressed the gold ring.

The corpse wasn’t of Mrs Lavanya Kapoor.

Then, who had died in the fire? Or, was she murdered?

Inspector Sharma’s mind went on a tailspin.

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PHOTO PROMPT © Marie Gail Stratford

By Neel Anil Panicker

They were a loyal couple. She, towards Herno; he, towards Movado.

It was no wonder she preferred the Italian powerhouse label, picking up ten super luxe pure gold dial watches whereas he turned the men’s section around and armed himself with Movado Bold, again ten in number, matching hers.

“We compete in love as well as indulgences” was their joint reply to the awe struck Bloomingdales sales girls who had seen their share of splurges in life”.

An hour later as the two awaited their flight at JFK airport, Shelly squeezed Herbert’s arm.

“Blessed is the one who invented cloning”.



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PHOTO PROMPT © Sarah Ann Hall

By Neel Anil Panicker

The entire mantelpiece was chock-a-block with vases in myriad shapes, sizes and colours.
One in particular caught his attention.
Inspector Sharma’s fingers skirted past the bud, cylinder and cube shaped ones to finally rest on the wide base piece that squeezed upwards to a pastel green narrow neck, the latter tapering just enough for flowers with the thinnest of stems to fit in.
The cop’s eyes flickered for a nano second; his trained police mind jogged down memory lane; visions of a bunch of huge corolla dripping creamy magnolias scurried past his brain.
He was staring at the murder weapon.

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PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

By Neel Anil Panicker

As the sun’s dying rays fell on the muddy expanse in front of him, Sasi’s lips curled up in an evil smile.

Above as the clouds turned a darkish hue, the brackish waters below reflected monstrous branches, their diaphanous leaves ala shaggy twisted hairs of some strange sea creature.

‘That’s one more secret buried. One more battered memory stashed away in the deep recesses of Mother Earth.’

Or so, thought Sasi.

He cupped his hands and struck a match. His fave Camel ciggie glowed in the dark.

‘was too late when he noticed a hand sneak out from the shadows.

©neelanilpanicker2017 #FridayFictioneers #flashfiction #justanothermemory #100words