What are Prompted Writings? See here

Prompt: That was his idea not mine

First draft:

“That was his idea, not mine,” Molly shouted.  Molly referred to her twin brother Mitchell.  Their older sister Emily who was on babysitter duty heard the commotion and came to investigate.  Upon entering the room, Emily found the two younger ones engaged in hot debate, and when she inquired as to what was going on, it prompted Molly’s declaration.
“What idea?  What are you talking about?”  Emily asked.
“Nuh-uh!!”  Mitchell protested.  “It was not!  And she was the one who flipped the latch on the cage.”  Emily glanced at Pippen’s cage in the corner.  Pippen was their twenty-five year old Macaw.  Their parents had gotten Pippen early in their marriage— long before they had any of the kids.  And since Macaws live to an average age of seventy-five, he was still relatively a youngster.  Upon Emily’s inspection, the cage door was indeed open.  But Pippen was nowhere in sight.
“So who opened the cage door?”  Emily’s voice was a mixture of calm investigator and annoyed older sister.
“She did!  She did!” Blurted Mitchell.
“But I’m not the one who opened the window,” Molly shouted.  Emily snapped her attention to the window that hung open.  She briskly walked to the window to inspect it.
“This window?  You opened this widow after Pippen got out of his cage?”  The panic in her voice was rising.
“Pippen said he wanted it open,” Mitchell defended his action.  And his voice warbled as he said it.  Emily snapped her attention back over to Molly.  Her eyes were welling up now and tears spilled down her cheeks.
“We called and called to him, but he didn’t come back,” Molly said between sobs.   
Dad had been working on the screens so they had been taken down.  There was nothing separating Pippen from the wild blue yonder, and he exploited his advantage and was somewhere in the neighborhood probably right now trying to talk to a very unsuspecting pigeon.

First revision:

“That was his idea, not mine,” Molly shouted referring to her twin brother Mitchell.  She was responding to their older sister Emily who was heard the commotion and came to investigate. 
“What idea?  What are you talking about?”  Emily asked.
“Nuh-uh!!”  Mitchell protested.  “It was not!  And she was the one who opened the cage.”  Emily glanced at Pippen’s cage in the corner.  Pippen was their twenty-five year old Macaw.  Their parents had gotten Pippen early in their marriage— long before they had any of the kids.  And since Macaws live to an average age of seventy-five, he was still relatively a youngster.  The door was indeed open.  But Pippen was nowhere in sight.
“So who opened the cage door?”  Emily’s voice was a mixture of calm investigator and annoyed older sister.
“She did!  She did!” Blurted Mitchell.
“But I’m not the one who opened the window,” Molly shouted. 
“This window?”  Panic welled in Emily’s voice.  “You opened this window after Pippen got out of his cage?”
“Pippen said he wanted it open,” Mitchell defended his action.  And his voice warbled as he said it.  Emily snapped her attention back over to Molly.  Her eyes were welling up now and tears spilled down her cheeks.
“We called and called to him, but he didn’t come back,” Molly said between sobs.   
Dad had been working on the screens so they had been taken down.  There was nothing separating Pippen from the wild blue yonder, and he exploited his advantage and was somewhere in the neighborhood probably right now trying to talk to a very unsuspecting pigeon.