I recently found out that the 100 word flash-fiction/micro-stories I have been working these past three years have an actual name – “Drabble”.
The term is derived from a 1971 Monty Python book. ’nuff said!
There’s even a website to prove it.
So, ever at the rebellious cutting-edge, my newest piece – a seasonally appropriate monologue – is a variant-drabble form I’ve just invented.
It’s called a “Faux-Drabble”.
That is a piece that could pass for a drabble, but is actually 15 or so words out.
And so, I present to you Bella Basura’s First Faux-Drabble.
My winter consciousness feels bound within cold edges.
I am double-thermal long-johns.
And still my ankles are frozen blue.
They descend into hypothermic dysfunction, squishing like icy jelly when I stand on them.
My knees feel chilly. And my elbows.
I can’t leave the house, enraptured in my unnatural attachment to a radiator. “I love You. I want to envelope you. I want to lie all over you”. I say the same to my fur-covered hot water bottle. Hot chocolate and fleecy throws seduce me. Candles and a ‘real’ fire screen-saver on my laptop too. Hygge hygge hygge my arse.
Green and pleasant, England’s winters are mild, but still my consciousness always feels bound within cold edges.
Bella Basura January 2019
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