My lifeless eyes may no longer be as sharp
as my little grey cells, but the tall, lean man who rose from the grave was
unmistakably him.
I glided over. He shook the hands that I
offered with a hint of vanity.
“So we finally meet, monsieur Holmes,” I
bowed. “I am Poirot. Hercule Poirot.”
Pretty interesting! You seriously rock this genre!
ReplyDeleteThank you mam :))
ReplyDeleteInteresting story :)
ReplyDeletethanks
ReplyDeleteThat's a fantasy for every crime books lover! :)
ReplyDeleteAbsolutely... and for me, these two characters make up my whole life :)
ReplyDeleteAhhh yes.. the little grey cells, always working for Poirot!
ReplyDeleteEh bien, absolutely right! ;)
ReplyDeleteAwesome!! :) Keep 'em coming!!
ReplyDeleteHi Rohan. Thanks and keep reading ;)
ReplyDeleteWow. Mind blown.. LOVED it. SImple and Suprise .. :D
ReplyDeleteThank you Aditi for gliding over to the comment section and offering your hand :))
ReplyDeleteHey Ritesh.
ReplyDeleteI have read almost all your stories and I must say, you are an inspiration :)
Keep writing.
Hi Ashish. You're being over-generous. Your comment will be an inspiration for me to continue writing. Thank you so much for going through my stories. :)
ReplyDelete55 Fiction is my personal favorite writing style. And you definitely nailed this one.
ReplyDeleteHello Shubham. Thanks for visiting and appreciating. I too am in love with this style. :)
ReplyDeleteAh..Goosebumps..
ReplyDelete