Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)
As old Yeats would have said, “And what bloghop opens, its hour come round at last” (well, he might have said that, you can’t say for certain that he, like, wouldn’t).
Anyway, fans of this bloghop know that each Thursday our friend zoe/ivy provides us with a prompt word and asks that we devise a story using this word in some manner. Since she started this year, there’ve been some rather cool writing and not just the fun and clever variety. A couple of the people have had the talent and ability to create viable and engaging serial stories… chapters each week, six sentences at a time! … like Josie who takes us back to the early 20th C, all of the charm and horror of semi-early American history; Mimi and her tale of the nice couple who happen to have a genie in the attic (no, not Barbara Eden!), and, of course, there’s the semi-eponymous Frank and Stella, the couple that have grown increasingly real each week, six sentences at a time. And the rest of the v talented crew at Six Sentence Story.
….you know you want to try it. come on! I thought the same thing myself when I started! Yet, every week I get out the ouija-keyboard and see what comes out.
This week the word is: ‘Mark’
The image of the young woman advanced from the depths of the full length mirror, stepping out from the uncertainty that is a looking glass to stand at the edge of the world.
“It’s six thirty, you know they told you if you were late again you’d find yourself back at the employment agency,” a voice, tired and yet jagged with threat, rose from the quilted-dark of the bedroom.
Stepping further into the dressing room, the shape of the woman cast a dark-on-pale-yellow on the slightly skewed rectangle of light that extended towards the bed, threatening to draw un-wanted attention. Her hand flittered along the high collared blouse, delicately touched the sunset edge of her eye, like a cliff swallow hovering on rock’s edge, she feathered her cheek with a color of healthy flesh, from nowhere, the memory of a loved and feared voice,
“Mark my words, young lady, if you leave this house today there is no guarantee that you will be able to come back,” despite all the books written by experts and the desperately well-meant advice, shame ignited, a match tossed thoughtlessly on a pile of old newspapers.
“Hey, sorry about last night but you know what it does to me when you talk about leaving, I’ll make it up to you tonight. you’ll see,” the voice fading down into slumber, left the path clear for the young woman, standing in the doorway, to let her shoes fall behind, and step silently back towards the bedroom, the marks on her face and body growing more pronounced as the regret-fueled rage grew.
About clarkscottroger
Some very great images
thanks Paul
Oh!!! I was not anticipating that ending at all, it took my breath away! You created some powerful imagery here, Clark! I could visualize the exchange between them, and could feel her blood boiling as she moved silently back into the bedroom. Been there a time or too myself, that with a little less self-control might have ended disastrously!
yeah… the dynamics have dynamics, the momentum of suffering is way scary.
Thank you for the kudos, it’s definitely a learning process. Now I need to get busy and catch up on Almira!
totally welcome, I ma learning as you write!
I’m marking your words, young man. You are an ace at descriptive writing. The sunset edge of her eye. Love it.
yes Miss Valerie ….. (lol have a excellent Christmas)
My very favorite line from this is “the sunset edge of her eye, like a cliff swallow hovering on rock’s edge.” I really don’t like this guy! (I probably should have put that last statement in all caps.)
no, I agree the guys a creep.
Powerful and, in the end, frightening.
can’t be much good to follow, even allowing for the escape from a bad situation
Domestic violence results from a weakness in both parties. Pity there is not a subject in high schools or college on avoiding confrontation in relationships.
agreed but like kindness and giving, this might be one of those things that are learned before they are taught.
WOW Wow wow–powerful writing!
thank you, Stella