Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

This is the Six Sentence Story. Our host, Denise, provides a new prompt word each week and invites one and all to write a story six sentences in length, using the word.

Its fun, its interesting and can help a writer get good at the wordifying.

Ya know?

(If a younger version of myself, say from junior high school in the ’60s, read this Six, no one would be surprised to hear, “Hey man, it’s a comic strip! Does getting old always mean losing your sense of humor?” The reply would be somewhere along of the lines of, “Shut up, kid. You’re thirteen-years-old in a semi-martial, wholly patriarchal culture where violence is as American as…. Wait a minute! Maybe you’re right.
…Nah, you’re not right. You’re just young. You will, with luck, grow out of it.”)

The prompt word:

SUPPLEMENT

“What the bloody ‘ell is this?” Holding the clear-yellow capsule up against the bare incandescent bulb hanging from the ceiling, Andy gave voice to his two defining traits, suspicion and aggression.

Without removing his cap, he tilted his head back and to the side in order to prevent the smoke of his cigarette from obscuring his vision, even as he blinked spastically to clear the 90 proof tears from his eyes.

“It’s a supplement, like on the telly, you said you wanted me to get yer some; the bloke in the commercial said it would make things like when we was young.”

“Shut up, Flo,” ignoring the full breakfast on the table, he held the capsule up to his nose; the tattered remains of what was, at best, minimal intellect, sufficient only to give free rein to animal instinct.

The woman stood at the sink; were she to shrug it would be difficult to notice, endless years serving sentinel to a union more martial, than marital. took its toll on her posture as well as her spirit.

“Gimme somethin’ to drink,” Andy put the two capsules in his mouth and stared at Flo with a bleary-eyed belligerence that spoke sad volumes about their thirty years of marriage.