Hache L. Jones – the compiler/editor of “For sale: baby shoes, never worn – a collection of flash fiction based on a single theme” - revealed in a newsletter that somebody had submitted a totally alliterative piece, all the words beginning with the letter b. I was intrigued by the idea, and wrote the following. Shortly after submitting it, I asked Hache to withdraw it, as it seemed too nasty for the anthology.
Barely Bearable
Author description: bad baloney
Warning! Not for the squeamish.
[Disclaimer: I had set myself another 2 challenges: to write a baby shoes murder story and to write an alliterative baby shoes story. While walking up a mountain on a hot Spanish day, the 2 challenges fused into the following, may The Deary forgive me!]
Basildon barman Bernie Baxter bought baby booties before Betty bore Baby Bobby. But Baby Bobby blasted Bernie’s bliss. Bloated Bobby’s birth broke bulimic Betty’s back.
Bernie became bitter, borrowed brother Barnie’s Browning, blew Baby Bobby’s brains beyond believable boundaries.
Bernie barely breathes blasphemies behind Broadmoor bars.
***
The next one was rejected because it wasn't actually fiction:
Xenophobic Censorship?
Author description: completely gobsmacked, intrigued
I know that this is supposed to be flash FICTION, but something so bizarre has happened to me that I wanted to share this absolutely true story with my fellow contributors to this project. I’m not sure how I’m going to manage it, but at some point within the next few minutes, WHILE I’m typing, I shall attempt to add fictional elements and sufficient justification (i.e. the baby shoes) to conform to the remit.
In the beginning, every time that I entered a piece for this estimable opus, I “copied” what I’d earlier typed out in a very famous word processing program and “pasted” it into the submission form. Since I can only “copy” one piece (however long) at a time, I found it necessary to type out the title, author description, and my e-mail address each time on that on-line form. (At 61, ticking that box that said “I am at least 16…” was also tiresome.)
Now, I’d have had to type out the title and author description in the unmentionable program anyway. What was REALLY narking me was typing out my [rather long and complicated] e-mail address again and again and again.
I therefore asked our even more estimable opus-organiser for permission to submit the rest of my pieces via e-mail. She accepted.
(For reasons that are about to become obvious, this present piece is being submitted via the web-site.)
I submitted (via e-mail) a story about missionaries in which the word “England” appeared. The estimable Hache L. Jones wrote back asking if that was a typo, because there seemed to be a word missing. Sure enough, in my e-mail “sent” folder, I found that the word “England” was not there. Had I suffered from dementia and removed it without remembering? (I point out at this point that the words “German, French, Portuguese, even Russian” made it through unscathed.) Was a Euro-bureaucrat erasing England before its deadline was up?
But subsequent e-mails to other friends revealed that although the word “German” survived the trip through the ether, the same word with a “y” tacked on to the end simply went AWOL, and the clause “I’ll fly to the USA” was reduced to “I’ll fly to the ”.
I have reason to suspect that my e-mail provider is based in the Seychelles. Whether this is relevant information, I have no idea.
Up until now, this has been the strictest of truths, but we’re rushing headlong to the fictional element which should validate this entry.
Momentarily deranged by this experience, I rushed out (WITHOUT my cap on! [Good friends will verify that this was either a sure sign of derangement OR a blatant piece of fiction: take their assurances as you will, it’s all one to me]), jumped onto a passing llama which kindly dropped me at an emporium where I bought a pair of baby shoes with the EXPRESS AND ONLY aim of offering them for sale (in a brand-new state).
Enjoyed the first one!