picnic

It was a bright Summer's day in Sleepy Meadow. The birds sang in the river, the fish swam in the trees and the fields were covered in a bright host of buttercups.
   The Collins family carried their straining hamper full of tasty goodies into the long grass, and laid down their traditional gingham cloth (it had been a while since it was last checked). There was the mother, Susan, the father, Alan, and the son and daughter, traditionally named Tommy and Janey. They began their jolly lunch.
"What a lovely, sunny day!" shrieked Susan.
"Yes," howled Alan, "I checked the forecast."
"Mmm, these cakes are just delicious!" screamed Janey.
"I knew you'd like them." screeched Susan.
"Could you pass the jam, please, daddy?" scowled Tommy.
"Certainly!" squealed Alan.
"Look! A butterfly!" yelled Janey.
"That's just super!" wailed Susan.
"I love butterflies." bellowed Janey.
"Same here." lamented Alan.
"As do I." winced Tommy.
"Wait, quiet a minute." roared Alan.
"What is it, father?" bawled Janey.
"I thought I heard a stormcloud." screeched Alan.
"Oh no," pierced Tommy, "We'll have to go home!"
"Yes, pack everything up and we'll return to the car." shouted Susan.
   And so their picnic, which they had begun in earnest, ended in outright tragedy. No-one could have forseen the events that afternoon, and some would say that Sleepy Meadow be cursed but they be wrong. Oi've worked thar all moi loife, and I bain't seen no gypsy curse w't' bat'hes cruss, bioi' mar't, gro'if glaaarg.

                                                          THE END