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Sally Sparrow December 14, 2009

Posted by Anna in Exercises, Poetry.
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Writing prompt: ‘s’ … and alliteration with at least 2 other letters. (ie write your story with as many words beginning with ‘s’ as possible.)

This was an interesting writing prompt, and I didn’t find it really lent itself to the flow of a more ‘normal’ story, so I went with just playing with the alliteration. I’m not sure I’m happy with how it ended, but the last six lines took 4 hours because of all the interruptions, and writing never flows without concentrated efforts. It’ll have to do for now, though. All up, it was fun to play with – thanks Jane!

Sally Sparrow sipped a tiny teaspoon’s worth of wonderful water from the beautiful birdbath in Billy Baxter’s backyard.

Sunshine skimmed through towering trees and wondrous, wavering notes thrilled from the throats of three thrushes nearby.

Such a sensational, seasonally-perfect summer’s day in Sally Sparrow’s psyche.

Just as Sal jumped from jacaranda to japonica, the thrilling thrush sounds sensationalised into shrilling shrieks.

Sally squeaked a sharp screech and hid herself hastily, making the most of the mass plantings providing particularly perfect protection.

What wicked wandering wildcat would intrude, illicit and invasive, to haul havoc into this heavenliness?

Sally studied the scenery, sighting a dutiful dog dozing devoid of all dignity, brazen on its back beside the back door.

A child chortled cheerfully, chucking fistfuls of flowers forth at its friends, for their amusement, approval and abundance.

Giving the garden a God-fearing glare, Sally swooped skywards to tremble in the treetops with her troops.

Three thorough thrushes nestled nervously nearby, too terrified to tell over the odious occurrence which had wasted their winsome warbling.

As amity again affected the garden, garrulous gossiping grew gradually, but Sally stayed sensitive to surrounding sights and sounds.

At last she located the exact evacuation evocation explanation: a horrible hawk high on his eagle-eyed aerie.

“The babies! The babies! The babies!” she cried, calling a cacophony credible and clear, babbling boldly from bird to bird.

The message made meaning to apt avians: alert to protect their precious progeny, they waged wild winged warfare, furiously fighting their foe.

Sally Sparrow, too small to significantly succeed at the scene, cheered the challenging champions, her chums.

Their assault was astonishing, amazing, audacious! Horrified hawk heaved his haughtiness high, away and aloft to another, less attentive assault.

Sensationally sabotaging sly slaughterer’s strategy, returned regiment rested, watered well and weighted by whopping-great worms.

Blessed bounty of Billy Baxter’s backyard settled subsequently still, soothed in societal singsong started by Sally the Sparrow.