Here comes another piece of fiction writing for the Indifiction workshop organized by Suresh Chandrasekaran and The Fool. The current edition (fifth) is being judged by Deepa Duraisamy, Arvind Passey and Jayashree Srivatsan. The plot provided by Arvind Passey was exciting and challenging. It can be accessed here: http://indifictionworkshop.blogspot.in/2013/02/exercise-for-edition-5.html

I gave up a lot of times while writing this piece and had to ask people to push me to get it done. I loved the plot, but, being used to be fed details, it was difficult working on it.

Here's a snippet of the story:

06:05, 01/02/13

Samir shivered in the early morning chill. It was barely five minutes past six and it had taken him a humunguos effort to relinquish the warmth of his bed for a jog. Not that he needed the exercise. Or wanted it. The neighbour's teen-aged daughter had started getting insecure about her figure and he was more than ready to lend a helping hand.
'Late again', he muttered as he fixed his hair using a parked car's side mirror. 'Sexy eyes', he crooned, looking into his reflection. 'Hmmm. Handsome face', he smiled, moving back a few paces. 'Strong should...what the hell!!', something in the reflection had sent shivers down his spine. He spun around to spot the source of the horror and gasped. There, behind the car, in the narrow lane between the buildings of the compound, hung, tangled in a mesh of wires, the body of a young girl, covered in blood.
Samir stood transfixed, unable to comprehend the scene before him. Who could've done this? It was one of the most peaceful, residential areas of the town. What should he do? Calling the cops meant dealing with questions and possible accusations. But why should he be scared? He looked at the face of the young girl. The eyes, still open, looked startled, as if she too was surprised to find herself in a position like this. Dangling from a set of wires at six in the morning. On a Sunday.

Samir snapped out of his daze. He decided he shouldn't be seen in the company of a dead body so early in the morning. He was just a regular jogger, trying to score the neighbour's daughter. Satisfied with his decision, he turned on his heel and jogged away. Had he waited a few minutes he would have earned himself some interesting company.

The door of the balcony of one of the flats on the seventh floor swung open and a middle-aged man stepped out, looking bewildered. He cut a handsome figure of masculinity except for the red ladies' gown that he was wearing. He stood puzzled for a few minutes, trying to remember why he was so dressed. But a trail of blood on the floor caught his attention. He followed it to the edge of the railing, grabbed the handrail firmly, peeped down gingerly and felt the ground beneath his feet give away. The earth trembled, the sky erupted with bolts of lightning and the Sun spewed fire as Mr.Sibal let out a horrified, ear-splitting scream.

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