An adventure advocating the advantages of alliteration

I must say that I have very much enjoyed it, and have found myself obsessively implementing alliteration into my everyday conversations. All of my opponent's works have been very entertaining, and I am very glad to have both read them and written my own in a very creative debate. Saba squirmed as she sat; sadly allowing her sudden realizations soak in. How had she allowed herself to unknowingly stumble into such a silly snare? Suddenly skeptical of the soundness of her psychological state, Saba reflected on the night of the homicide. Surely she wasn’t responsible for the slaughter—such a small and innocent woman could never sin so seriously! The corpse in Saba’s sunroom had somehow been enslaved by a superior force, only to meet its demise in a spurting, scarlet mess. “Why did such a gruesome sight make my sunroom its setting? ” Saba asked herself, straining to recollect the events preceding the second she spotted the scene. She sorely stood up from her spot on the station floor and sauntered around the room, hoping to come to some sort of conclusion before the issue surfaced in her next psychologist’s session. As she paced, she sought to recall precisely what had taken place the night she saw the homicide. She remembered that she had spoken with her husband, and— suddenly she was scared. Somehow she had forgotten entirely about her husband! She had survived severe stress and sadness without even the slightest thought of Seabert or the life they had shared. Silently and slowly, with the severest of shock, Saba remembered. She remembered the disagreement, the squabble, the spoken words and the struggle. She remembered the swearing and the swinging, the shedding of tears…The shedding of blood. Saba reflected on the rage, the hostility, the splitting sayings that smashed sorrow into her heart; the superbly accessible string seeming to signal her from the sunroom. She remembered the screams, the struggling, the scratching of fingernails on the floor, the gasping for air, and the desperation swimming in her husband’s eyes as he took his last breaths. She remembered the satisfaction of stealing Seabert’s future and his past, and smiling as she put him to rest in a scarlet strangle-scene. Saba remembered everything, sparing no memory—neither shocking nor subtle. Saba screamed in horror as she sped through the scarring seconds of her husband's demise. In a scared panic, she scoured the closet for her purse. She knew the station-workers would be stampeding into her room at any second in search of the source of the screams, so she forced herself to act faster than usual. After several seconds of panicked searching, Saba siezed the scarlet-stained string she had strangled her husband with on the night of the homicide. In a psychotic scramble, she affixed the string to the closet ceiling and shakily stood on a swivel chair. "I have no choice," Saba whispered as she slipped the string around her neck. "It's either this or a prison sentence. " Suddenly she could hear the footsteps of the station-workers—footsteps that sent shivers down her spine. They were coming. "This is it," Saba stuttered as she began to step one foot off the swivel chair. Slowly and silently, Saba sucked in a deep breath. .. And made the jump.