Welcome to Week 89 of Three Line Tales.

Three Line Tales, Week 89


three line tales week 89: this is the sign you've been looking for

photo by Austin Chan via Unsplash

By Neel Anil Panicker

The lone occupant inside the white Ambassador car that was trailing the unmarked police jeep as it entered the bylanes of Mayapuri Industrial Area was no ordinary man_ seated behind the wheel, his hands drumming into the velvety cushions was none other than Afzal Guru, the most feared mafia don of Old Delhi himself.

The jeep cruised to a halt near an abandoned factory wall; within seconds a figure slipped out of the shadows, and walked towards the driver’s seat.

A mere fifty metres away, peering through the windshield, Afzal Guru watched the woman as she, first nodded and then shook hands with his bete noire Inspector Sharma, Special Crime Branch, Delhi Police. It was all the proof he ever needed against Liza, his own daughter.

#Part 25 of A DANGEROUS LOVE#Fiction#ThreeLineTales#126words



Sunday Photo Fiction – July 9th 2017

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205 07 July 9th 2017

© A Mixed Bag

By Neel Anil Panicker

“Hey babes, pop your head out of the window. See that blue van parked near the kerb. I’m inside it. Time’s running out. Just pop out and we scoot, ok?”

‘Great, sweetheart. Me and Ronnie…we’ll join you in a sec.’

“What? You bringing Ronnie? Gone mad or what?”

‘But what else do I do?  I can’t leave him alone and you know that.”

“Gawd, what am I hearing? Is this a joke? Can’t you just dump that big boy? He’ll take care of himself”.

‘Listen, Michael. Let me get this straight__I am not going anywhere without Ronnie, you get that?’

“Loud and clear. This is what I get for risking my life and robbing a bank off a million dollars and dreaming of starting a grand new life with you and what do I get in return__the thumbs down, being dumped for a bloody dog. I hate you, you bitch.”

©neelanilpanicker2017 #SPF #fiction #150words



Bogota, Columbia

Hosted by J Hardy at

Bogota, Columbia



Silva House of Poetry - Honoring a Colombian legend

By Neel Anil Panicker

 “¿Podría decirme la ubicación exacta del corazón?”

Dr Juan Camilo, senior cardiologist at Santa Barnara Medical Center couldn’t  believe what he had just heard.

True, in his almost four decade old career he had had patients who made all kinds of demands, bizarre requests, a few outright stupid, and one absolutely insane: ‘Doc, can you stop my heart for ten minutes. I want to experience what it means to die.’

But this one was different, especially so as it came from a person whom all of Bogota nee Columbia respected nee revered to the point of veneration.

He mulled over the entreaty for a moment and then replied, “Claro, si insistes”

The tall young man’s eyes lit up and he replied, “Muchas gracias, doctor.”


It was a decision that the renowned doctor would regret for the rest of his life.

The following day’s newspapers reported the tragic death of  José Asunción Silva, the cause, a single bullet shot through the heart.

©neelanilpanicker2017 #historicalfiction #whatpegmansaw #email:neelanilpanicker@gmailcom #161words


José Asunción Silva (27 November 1865 in Bogotá – 23 May 1896 in Bogotá) was a Colombian poet. He is considered one of the founders of Spanish–American Modernism.

On the morning of 24 May 1896, a housemaid found Asunción Silva dead in his bed with a gun near his body; he had shot himself in the heart the night before. There are many reasons for his suicide, including the death of his sister Elvira, the loss of almost all his work when his ship sank near a quay in the Caribbean sea, and his debts. Prior to his death, he asked his doctor confidentially to mark the exact location of his heart.

He was buried in the Central Cemetery in Bogotá. Perhaps his more important legacy is the house where he lived, which has been converted into a museum, the Silva Poetry House.[1]



Hosted by the super wonderful Rochelle at

For other wonderful entries click on the blue frog below:


PHOTO PROMPT © Claire Sheldon


By Neel Anil Panicker

 ‘Time of death: Between 7 and 8 am, Saturday, April 03, 2016.

Slow death, probably bled for about twenty minutes. 

Cause of death: Perforation of jugular veins; rupturing of carotid arteries.

Cause: Insertion of foreign body, not more than 1 mm diameter.’

Inspector Sharma mulled over the forensic report.

A young woman was found dead in a 5-star hotel room.

There were zero witnesses. The CCTV images captured nothing suspicious except…

Except what?

Sharma racked his brains as he blew smoke rings into the air.

Minutes later, his eyes lit up and he barked, “Yadav, get me a paper clip.”

©neelanilpanicker2017 #FF #fiction #100words



Burj Khalifa, Dubai

Today Pegman takes us to the Burj Khalifa in Dubai.

Feel free to stroll around the area using the Google street view and grab any picture you choose to include in your post.

To enjoy stories inspired by the What Pegman Saw prompt or to submit your own 150-word story, visit the inLinkz button:


17 View from the top

By Neel Anil Panicker

The cityscape of Dubai with its palm tree lined linear streets, the domed minarets, the hexagonal  odd patches of green on an otherwise sand kissed topography__all were a blur, like a colony of ants, barely visible to the naked eye, and yet glistening in the blistering heat of the desert sun.

As Lubna watched the visual spread of ever changing kaleidoscopic colours from her 150th floor hotel room at the Burj Khalifa, she felt on top of the world, both literally and metaphorically.

A whirlwind romance, a lavish wedding, and now, two days later, a dream honeymoon in the skies, around 3000 feet above the earth__ God had been generous nee lavish in showering his blessings.

She turned around and tiptoed towards the master bed, towards the man of her dreams, intending to lather his handsome face with sweet kisses.

Under the covers, Usman waited, knife in hand.

©neelanilpanicker2017 #whatpegmansaw #fiction #148words



197 04 April 9th 2017

© A Mixed Bag

By Neel Anil Panicker  (176 words)

Varun, I knew him as. Was unconventional–said he believed in doing things differently.

We were on our first date ever.

Took me to this weird looking boat.

I saw  a neighing horse’s head jutting out from the bow.

“You’ll love this. Move to the corner,” he said. In his hands he held a vintage use ‘n’ throw black and white camera.

Just when the flashlights popped, the air around broke into raucous laughter and deafening shrieks.

A band of overexcited tourists had clambered on.

The next I know the tiny boat wobbled and off I flew from bow to stern in one big somersault.

Opened my eyes to find myself peering into limpid blue eyes and a face that broke into an impish grin.

Suspended in midair, I felt the warmth of steely hands on tender waist.

Our eyes met, Cupid’s darts struck.

Love at first sight—that’s what it was.

Heard a splash and looked over only to find someone flailing his arms wildly in the cold waters.

It was ‘Goodbye Varun, Hello Albert’.

©neelanilpanicker2017 #fiction # shortstory #SPF

Written for

Sunday Photo Fiction – April 9th 2017

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BEST SERVED COLD    (99 words)

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll
By Neel Anil Panicker

“George Clifton, the 65-year-old owner of Clifton Estate was found murdered today, his throat slit with a sharp edged weapon. This is the very Estate  where 20 years ago…”

Bhura switched off the television set, struck a match, and watched as the newspaper cutting  burnt to ashes.

Its contents read, ‘Allahabd Police have discovered the body of an around 25 year old woman, from inside Clifton Estate. The partially burnt corpse bore several knife wounds. A postmortem report confirmed rape. A three-month old child, believed to be the woman’s, was found beside the body whom the killer/s left unharmed.’

(c)neelanilpanicker2017 #fiction #short story #99 words

This is in response to the weekly FRIDAY FICTIONEERS CHALLENGE HOSTED BY the amazing Rochelle at