Alliteration (al-lit’-er-a’-tion): Repetition of the same letter or sound within nearby words. Most often, repeated initial consonants. Taken to an extreme alliteration becomes the stylistic vice of paroemion where nearly every word in a sentence begins with the same consonant.
It was the dreaded dog. It had gotten loose again and was dragging a chain behind it. He was running towards me. Soon, my windpipe would be hanging out and I would be the dreaded dog’s latest victim. But it wasn’t meant to be. Instead of ripping out my throat, he was whining and running in little circle like Lassie did when she wanted Timmy to follow her.
I took the cue and we ran down the street together, crossed the street to the park, and ran into the woods. He growled at me. “This is the end,” I thought as he shook his head back and forth. “He suckered me into the woods, now he’s going to kill me.” That was it. I closed my eyes and waited to be torn apart. He could catch me if I ran, so, forget that.
Suddenly it got quiet. I opened my eyes. There was a smiling baby lying at my feet, kicking its legs. I picked it up and carried it home. When I got home I yelled “Ma, I found a baby!” She said “You found a what?” “A baby.” I answered. We decided to take it to the police station. There was a $500 reward. That gave me an idea.
I could train the dreaded dog to lift babies from their bassinets, I could “find” them and return them for the reward.
My plan failed when I realized if I started finding babies everywhere, I would become a suspect for kidnapping them. So, I toned it down. I befriended the dreaded dog with beef patties and Milkbone treats. I taught the dreaded dog to snatch purses. I took off his chain and gave him a respectable name: Marlon. We did well. He’d go up to a woman carrying a purse and look cute. She would bend over to scratch him behind the ears, and he’d grab the purse and run home.
Two months ago Marlon was caught by animal control. After being in doggie jail for awhile, he was adopted by a nice family and the kids loved him. When they were taking him for a walk, he got loose and grabbed a women’s purse. He brought it home to me. I was happy to see him—it was just like the good old days.
I emptied the purse, and I went to throw it on the pile of purses on the living room floor. But I noticed it had one of those little GPS trackers in it. There was pounding on my front door.
Guess where I live now. It’s not Elm Street. I’ll be at this address for two years.
Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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