At an acrimonious assembly, Ashley ascertains an augmented analysis and accidentally achieves an astounding aphorism.
“Always accept any alliance!” Ashley acclaims, abruptly achieving an angelic appearance; ascending, artificially airborne.
Aaron Ackerman, an androgynous and anachronistic aristocrat, abrasively attacks.
“Another attempt?” Aaron admonishes, “Ashley, always apart and alone.”
Aghast, Ashley awkwardly adapts, anxiously avoiding all available altruisms.
“An ally and an attacker,” Aaron adds, “are asymmetrical appendages, appropriately accentuating any achievement.”
“And?” Ashley’s affectionate air austerely abandoned.
“Alright,” Aaron apologizes, apathetically.
Aloof and afloat, Ashley anticlimactically abbreviates an answer.
“Any absolute alliteration—accepted and accurately arranged—amasses ardent adoration.”
“Ah!” Aaron, approval attained, admits. “Almost as amazing as an authentic Ackerman adage, albeit archaically assembled.”
Analyzing Aaron’s aggravating appearance and affectation, Ashley amasses an achingly avid addendum.
“Arrogant, as always,” Ashley asserts, “and awful.”
Note: This short piece was originally published on TheProse.com for May’s “Challenge of the Month” which was to write the longest alliteration. Take a look here.
