Onomatopoeia

Listen! The coins went clink, clinkety clink as they poured into his knapsack. He’d asked his father for his inheritance, and now he was off. Birds twittered in the rustling trees as he headed into the continual hubbub of Dissipation City.  

Once there, the gurgling of drinkers filled the air; ice cubes clinked in the fizzing drinks as revellers swigged and sloshed. Chuckles and smooching were also noteworthy. What a buzz! But when the cash tills ceased their clatter and beep-beeping, there was nothing but a resounding silence. 

Famine struck the land, and everywhere was filled with the bubbling of rumbling tummies (fitz; rowr) [1] whimper. He had grunting pigs to look after, as they snuffled and snorted their way through squishy, squashy, rotting pods, some of which gushed oozingly. Whaam! [2] A light went on in the boy’s head and he came to his senses. ‘I will go home and work there as a hired hand.’ 

But even while he was shuffling his way, his father ran, shouting, covered him with smackers, jingled jewellery, and jangled the buckles on his new loud shoes. Soon the air was filled with the hiss and crackle of a fire and the spit, fizzle and sputtering of fatted-calf, plus the chattery babbling merry-making of munching, chomping glugging partygoers.  

‘My son was lost, but now he’s found; was dead, but now is alive!’ bellowed father, at great volume.

[1] acknowledgement to Mad Magazine's Don Martin

[2] acknowledgement to Roy Lichtenstein's famous cartoon-style painting of 
a missile-firing jet