Flash Fiction Honourable Mention

The results of the Short Tale Shrew Spring Micro-Fiction competition was announced today. The remit was to write a 100 word story on the theme of Rebirth, the winning entry was In Microcosm by Matt Wyles. Read it here

Although my story – Film Night At The Rebirth Convention – didn’t win, I was given an “Honourable Mention” and had my story printed on the Short Tale Shrew website. (You can find it if you keep scrolling down from the winning entry.)

 

Here is my 100 word response to my (nearly) winning story, it’s called…

Gizza’ Job

Last Rose by Bella Basura 2016

Last Rose
by Bella Basura 2016

…ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred!

Exactly one hundred English words  – remit met, mission accomplished.

A mere smear of short story, a literature in miniature, a fleeting of fiction.

I am giddy in my 100 word hubris – I dream fame for my flash-fiction, imagine professional success, a regular column in a weekend national, a steady income for writing. Sold out fold out, international filler, syndicated, vindicated, a meme beaming out virally into an endless network of recognition,
a cyber celeb,
and known in print, media-whore, desperate.

I think I’ll approach Short Tale Shrew  in exactly 100 words.

See what they think.

 

Other Flash Fiction

My Image Gallery

From The Short Answer

Majhanashoppinglist - Bella Basura 2016

Majhanashoppinglist
– Bella Basura 2016

The Tibetan Book of Home Economics

Thus, when I wander in Samsara in the realm of the wrathful food emporiums, the supermarkets of the bardo of eternal price confusion, may I not wander aimless to decide between one 200gm tube or two 100gm tubes of toothpaste. May Majhanashoppinglist and his consort Sensiblebugettingbhava go before me and carry me through the fearful towers of the checkouts. Thus, may I not be attracted by the bright flashing colours, shiny celophane, BOGOF and price slashing, but may the clear pure green light of the Exit shine before me and lead me to the eternal bliss of exiting the carpark.

Bella Basura
April 2016

Bella Basura’s  Collection of 100 word Flash Fictions – The Short Answer

Other images in my Gallery

Fish Mythology – Flash Fiction

Finally, I have managed to capture in words my tumultuous feelings around the death earlier this year of my one-time Hero, freak out to the Teenage Moon Dream oh yeah! – David Bowie. The piece is a 100 word Flash Fiction story, that has a specifically East-Anglian setting because I live in East-Anglia.The piece, Fish Mythology, is sub-titled “if David Bowie had been born an Eel instead”

 

Fish Mythology By Bella Basura

Eel Bowie-Fish

 Here Eel Bowie-Fish fell, brandy-drunk, face down in the Ouse.
Down where Bulrush buds waver in clear still water, beneath we writhing bottom-feeder shoals, we elvers and catfish, he deep under layers of earthy mud, dark dead debris.

Here in leaf-litter and rot lies the corpse of old Eel Bowie-Fish, who lead us to conquer the Isle of Ely, on the Fen he crawled on his fins, on the floodplain he walked on his tail, like a bishop, into the Cathedral, resplendent in his flowing robes.
But here lies Eel Bowie-Fish , decomposing in slow-motion undulations, while we pick his bones white.

Bella Basura’s in progress Flash Fiction Anthology – The Short Answer

Bella Basura
Feb. 2016

Novelty Magazine Issue 3 – Under The Skin

This evening sees the launch of issue three of Novelty Magazine – a quarterly online magazine thematically exploring fresh perspectives on unconventional themes.

Issue three is subtitled Under The Skin and explores notions of body and cultural identity, In their editorial Marta Faustino and Francesca Ponzini state “being truly comfortable in your skin is a courageous act of rebellion”, a principle that is evident is their careful selection and presentation. So, as you can imagine, I was delighted that my own piece – Strawberry Fair Armpit Hair – was chosen to be part of this project.

See Novelty Magazine Here 

about Bella Basura Online here

 

Flash Fiction, again

A Complete Unknown. Photo by Bella Basura 2011

A Complete Unknown.
Photo by Bella Basura 2011

No Direction Home
By Bella Basura

Speared awake by shafts of stupid sunlight falling across my hangover face. My eyes are cracked open to an unfamiliar room. Washed up, face down, stranded at the high tidemark of last night’s intoxication.

Lying on a bare mattress, fully clothed, in a curtainless unoccupied room, no furniture.

Sitting up dizzily, I view dozens of big see-thru plastic bags piled against the blank walls. Evidence bags wadded full of incrimination.

Where the hell am I?

Lured by voices in the corridor, I turn to see a sign on my door.
In childish scrawl it reads “Welcome to the Plague Room”.

The Short Answer – Flash Fiction Anthology by Bella Basura
Gallery – Photos, collages, talismans

Tales From The Laboratorium

I originally posted this back in May last year – it was intended as the first in a blog-series of Gordon Tripp’s memories. Unfortunately my imagination was arrested in this pilot episode…

Meanwhile…
Voice over: What IS Doctor Gordon doing? Why, he’s dawdling and meandering through                        the Bella Basura back catalogue…

Cue:  scary, slow, plinky-plink avant-garde 1970s electronic music

A title sequence of still images: zooming out from blurred meaningless close ups in b/w                                      that take the form of simulacra – a man eating a magic mushroom, a                                 terrapin, a needle and a  spoon, the Willendorf Venus, an inverted                                        pentagram, the great pyramid of Giza, other stupid things –                                                    meaningless.  A skull.

Titles: lurch out over the images in bold Baskerville typeface

Tales From the Laboratorium
Narrated by Doctor Gordon Tripp

Final image : The Doc sitting in a winged red comfy chair in his Laboratorium smoking a                     roll up, candle-lit, of course.

Doc: The BBC have banished me  to the bowels of Bella Basura’s archive. To find examples of her oeuvre, to find the treasure buried beneath the shit, the diamonds in the dung-heap. Indeed I have been commissioned to curate the befuddled maunderings  of the hebephrenic poet-thing called Bella Basura into a coherent structured TV mini-series.

Cue: a few bars of Doc Gordon’s theme tune – Terrapin – Syd Barrett .

Doc: Enigmatically, to  say La Basura, as she became known in later days, was an enigma, is an enigma, in and of itself. Thus I shall refrain from further myth-creation and tell it like it was, and go straight for the jugular. I first encountered Bella Basura (banshee howl) whilst she was a participant on a government sponsored Enterprise Allowance Scheme that meant her dole money was paid directly into a government sponsored bank account while she pursued the tremulous task of being a free-lance writer. Basura (banshee howl) used the money – £36  a week at the time – to bum around Amsterdam inventing characters for an imaginary novel. She did this solidly for a year, the whole duration of the scheme, and that was the year we met. It was the early 1990s and although it now sounds glamorous and implausible , it was universally perceived at the time as a government policy to massage the unemployment figures and also as a convenient loophole for creative slacker-types. Bella (banshee howl) didn’t mind. In fact, she still uses her year as “a freelance author in Holland” on her CV, obviously it looks better than “on benefits”
(clap of thunder).
Clearly, I digress (sputtering).
(Sputtering ) (Again).

About a year after I met Basura (banshee howl), that is 6 months after the end of her Enterprise Allowance , she turned up unannounced and needy at my Laboratorium in Camberwell, South London. Broken and dishevelled as ever, it was obvious that she was back on the dole, and to no beneficial end.  She burbled at length at me and eventually left suddenly, enstupored and intoxicated in some indeterminate manner, she left incoherently stumbling, spewing A4 pages. As she stumbled she knocked against the kitchen table and sent a thick purple crayon careening to the floor where she insensately ground it into the kitchen lino with her great wasted hobnail boot. This created a weirdly tentacled stain that I have never been able to erase, to this very day, no matter what products are used.

For over a decade in the slow-burning bile of resentment and envy, that I naturally excel in, I pointedly reminded Bella (banshee howl) of the incurable stain every time she visited me . Thus does a Scorpio deal with a Leo. Or (symbol for scorpio) square (symbol for leo), for those with astrological leanings.
(a clap of thunder)
Clearly, I digress.

The horrors  which Basura (banshee howl) barely speaks of in this piece are almost beyond words. Unspeakable to some. And yet Basura (banshee howl) is a poet and words are her craft, her tools in trade, the building blocks of her very brain. So mouth the words she must, in essence she told me she had encountered a ghost of the future, a future-shadow. A premonition no less that had begun to imbed its tentacles deep into poor Bella’s (banshee howl) fragile mind, she began writing ceaselessly and frantically.

In actuality, there was much rumour back in those far-flung days of the coming to our shores of a dark new American-style benefit system called “work-fare” and it would force claimants into unpaid jobs in supermarkets in order to  deserve or  ‘earn’ their dole-money. Myself I thought it an urban myth, but I was wrong. It was nothing less than a precursor, a progenitor and the true birth-mother to the terrors of “Work Programme”, under whose draconian tyrannies we now toil.

The following piece  is one of Bella Basura’s earliest expositions of this dreadful prediction …The GodSeeker’s Allowance…

Fade to black

100 word fiction

Skull Girl Grimace Photo by Bella Basura 2015

Skull Girl Grimace
Photo by Bella Basura 2015

Ennui
By Bella Basura

I passively follow Qwerta to the beach, golden sand tumbles onward in rolling dunes, down to the sea. Momentarily I glimpse a vista of the deep oceanic horizon, blue with distance, then we dip down into a hollow, a machete is thrust into the sand.

Qwerta grasps the machete, but it stays fast, Excalibur in stone. She tugs, tugs, her maximised stealth leeching into the landscape. Sudden Manga wingedsnakebat creatures attack her kneecaps. She soaks the sand, beating out her life in numerical units. FAIL in red. Disappeared.

I pick up the machete and mouse-click back to the encampment.

Flash Fiction Anthology
Image Gallery

 

 

The Short Answer

Further Flash Fiction by Bella Basura
from the proposed Anthology – The Short Answer – short stories of 100 words in length.

Auntie Shocked Sees The Light Photo by Bella Basura 2013 Still from "Abandoned Video" With Phil MFU

Auntie Shocked Sees The Light
Photo by Bella Basura 2013
Still from “Abandoned Video” With Phil MFU

Precog Moment

Shaking firm hands with poker-faced thank-you-for-your-time, I close the door behind me.

Standing waiting for the lift down, I depressingly relive the interview.

I see myself lurching, a raddled old maid in rouge and blotchy mascara, wearing a charity-shop power-suit, manoeuvring square shoulder pads into a diminishing round hole. I trail mendacity and inappropriate extended metaphors across the interview room carpet. Bluff and fluff falling away.  The interviewers look at me, disappointed in their expectations, they recoil, their faces cave in and close.

Instantly, I know it’s over, even before I mention my criminal record and false identities on Facebook.

More Flash Fiction
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