145th Challenge

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

Week of 12-12 through 12-18-2017

Hosted by Priceless Joy at


By Neel Anil Panicker

Ismail Makhtoum stared at the strange concoction that had arrived on his table. For a moment he was tempted to call out to the waiter, the liveried ever smiling cartoonish character clad in a seven piece costume that reminded him of the Annual Fancy Dress Competitions back in his much lived much loved childhood in rural Ambosa.

Or still better, he wanted to kick the table aside and walk out of this fancy restaurant and walk into the nearest roadside shack by the beach and indulge in some serious lip smacking business__ducking and digging his teeth into straight of the sea slow cooked deep fried silvery salmons liberally peppered with what else but pepper and a dash of lemon.

But instead he looked through the grossly mangled partially sun burnt caterpillar like formations that crisscrossed the length and breadth of the fancy bone china plate and found what he was looking for.

The five gramme gold biscuit was there as promised.

He scooped it off and safely placed it in his inner trouser pockets alongside the evening tickets to New Delhi.

Just another day had begun in a carrier’s career.

©neelanilpanicker2017 #fiction #flash #shortstory #FFAW #SOMEDISH




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.

©neelanilpanicker2017 #FRIDAY FICTIONEERS #fiction #flash #100words #A potfull of…





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


Welcome to Week 94 of Three Line Tales.

Hosted by SONYA at


three line tales week 94: old pots in a sink

photo by Scott Umstattd via Unsplash


By Neel Anil Panicker

I wake up groggy eyed; last night’s indulgences stare down at me, half mocking, half pitying, unspooling in slow motion the debauchery of soiled existences.


The passion soaked proclamations of undying love; the neatly worded trope of cast iron truths; the early morning endlessly long surreal walks along barrens beaches; the midnight wanderings into the other’s heart and soul__all these and then some more eventually turn into deathly tombstones of that eternal falsehood called first love.


It takes time to sink in; by the time reality hits, you and everything around you has turned into a flotilla of orphaned memories.



Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie

Photo Challenge #188

Hosted by the brilliant NEKNEERAJ




By Neel Anil Panicker

They were a perfect couple.

She, the danseuse, grace personified, beauty ala divine, the initiator of a million eclectic moves.

He, pianist par excellence, the music maker, symphonist; the one who wove magic with his fingers, her guru-cum-interlocutor.

There they would converge in global artsy hot spots, unleashing their collective brilliance; regaling and hooking one and all, one with her feet and face and other bodily contours; another with his nimble fingers__a royal regalia of magical splendor, mesmerizing and illuminating all lovers of arts and music.

The senses of all who were fortunate to watch and hear such divine display  raised to new esoteric levels.

Awestruck, they watched her every step and move, twist and turn as he strung music unheard of ever before, the resultant fusion evoking appreciative ooohs and aaahs from the connoisseurs, all crème de la crème, the movers and shakers of the art world.

It was all so perfect until one day he realized that she was dancing, but not to his tunes.

That day his music died; so did her art.

©neelanilpanciker2017 #fiction #shortstory #176words



Flash Fiction Writing Challenge – #FridayFotoFiction Nov 10-Nov15 Prompt

Hosted by Tina Basu at


#FridayFotoFiction prompt


By Neel Anil Panicker

Bloody luck, what a day for the lift to play truant, Abdul muttered under his breath.

His hands slid down and adjusted the overhang around his waist.

A slow smile creased his lips as he made past the security gates.

The lone guard slumped on the rickety chair was lost to the world.

Abdul quickly glanced past him at the oblong Titan wall clock that clung to the wall.

Five past 12. The shift would change in another ten minutes. The next guard was ex-army, a man with an overdeveloped sense of duty, a martinet who asked umpteen questions, possessed X-ray scanner eyes to boot.

Abdul cupped the tool kit. His fingers slid past the torch, the wrench and settled on the pipe cutter.

He new his job well; knew he didn’t have time to kill; knew he had just about time to kill.

He hurried up the steps.



Thursday photo prompt – Ebb – #writephoto

Hosted by   at


By Neel Anil Panicker

Adani closed his eyes and the visions came floating by.

A near dilapidated apology of a mud house sans windows and doors.

He peeped inside and saw a creaking wobbly legged old wooden cot and lying on it an eighty year old woman spitting blood and bile onto the mud floors, her flaked skin and mangled bones spreading out all over like blackish blood cots on deadened bones.

On the floor around her lay in various stages of wakefulness, a shirtless man and a reed thin woman, and five small kids who looked equally emaciated, their socket less eyes staring out into the increasingly darkening roofless skies above.

The youngest among them, barely seven years old, was the template of utter gutter filth: a mixture of urine, bile, blood, spit and vomit was plastered all over his stark naked body, an obnoxiously pungent odour oozing from every single pore.


Adani opened his eyes and saw a hundred television cameras aimed towards him.

A woman thrust a mike. “Sir, how does it feel to have struck gold in this wilderness?”

Gautam Adani, the owner of Adani Power, a Fortune trillion dollar multinational conglomerate smiled wryly, “It feels great, a bit ironical though, as we knew never knew all this while we were living under a pile of gold.”

©neelanilpanicker2017 #ThursdayPhotoPrompt #theebb #fiction #flashfiction #218words