Six Sentence Story -the Wakefield Doctrine-

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

Each week a new prompt word.

Each week a challenge to write a story of exactly six sentences in length, a story employing the prompt word, directly or sideways.

Our host is Denise. She works hard at keeping this ‘hop available each week for those of us who enjoy writing, want to practice writing, enjoy reading, feel the need to watch words arrange themselves on the ‘page’ like trained ants. So, if you’re reading this intro, welcome. And before you start whatever ritual you employ in order to participate, take a minute and tell someone else that this is more fun than….than…. playing a perfect game of solitaire. (You know there is luck involved, but it just plain could not have happened without you.)

…just had a thought. Readers of this blog will immediately recognize ‘St Dominique’s’ as the convent of Sister Margaret Ryan. Sr Ryan being the full-time novitiate nun and part-time tech-sleuth who is the heroine of ‘Blog Dominium’ and (WIP) ‘Home and Heart’. So this Six, like many of my Sixes, is drawn from that world-story. (The running outfit that scandalized St. Dominiques? A gift from Maribeth Hartley, Sister Margaret’s bff from ‘Blog Dominion’. .ed)

This week’s prompt word:

CRUNCH

The sound of the bedroom door closing incorporated itself into my dream as a drawbridge slamming to the earth on the far side of a bottomless moat; my half-asleep mind and sleep-glued eyes struggled together to read the note at the foot of my bed, a single word: RUN.

In the beautiful cursive hand of Sister Cletus and her favored Mont Blanc, the embossed card perched, like a solitary bride atop a rumpled cake, on a pyramid of clothing: pink-and-black satin boxing trunks, (‘EVERLAST’ embroidered on the corrugated elastic waist) and a gray hooded sweatshirt, ‘Chicago PD’ stenciled on the back; my favored running outfit.

It was still predawn dark when I crossed the courtyard of St. Dominique’s convent and headed towards the sea; it occurred to me as I ran in the chill of the dying moon, if anyone was really wanted to find evidence of trolls, banshees and ice giants, the hours between three o’clock and sunrise were the truly enchanted hours.

With the subtly amniotic scent of salt air caressing my nose, I crossed the parking lot, dull slaps on asphalt replaced by the hissing of sand clutching at my feet; at the top of the dune I could see the beach, a striated ribbon of white and grey, dwarf conch shells and quartz pebbles that, melted by the endless waves, dull flat grey transformed into a shiny grey with each receding wave.

On my return to the convent, the sight of other nuns and novitiates, white-on-black wraiths, moving about the grounds in their morning routines, brought home the fact that my normal fifty minute run had taken ninety; I managed to shower and change in ten minutes.

Stepping into the kitchen, I saw the a single bowl and spoon on a linen place mat, Sister Cletus her back to the door, spoke without preamble, “A runner knows to take care of her body, to replace what was sacrificed during exercise,” turning, her life-etched face beaming with private humor, held out a brightly colored cardboard box, “Cap’n Crunch?”

Music Earworm warning! (lol, no, I have no idea!)

Comments

GirlieOnTheEdge says:

October 4, 2018 at 8:33 am

No kidding, earworm
g
Good 6! I’ve missed Sr. Margaret and her nun posse :)
I also enjoy the imagery created in your writing.
- clarkscottroger says:
  
  October 5, 2018 at 8:21 pm
  
  thank you. (good song) yeah, Sisters Margaret and Cletus make an interesting pair….in fact! here’s a scene I really enjoy from ‘Home and Heart’
  
  “Sister Ryan. How fortuitous your choosing today to stop by my broker’s office!”
  
  Some men have loud voices. All too often they are men who have little to say. Lacking confidence in the content of their message, they compensate with volume. Even if you might have no interest in what they say, said loudly enough and you will hear them. There is a (much smaller) group who have the ability to project their voice. Common to stage actors and politicians, it’s a talent for some and a skill for the remainder. Volume is not only irrelevant, more often than not, it’s counter-productive. The skill lies in creating a spoken message that makes the listener want to connect, if only to enjoy the tone of the voice, the shaping of the sound.
  
  The man walking towards me was different. It wasn’t the volume that carried from the back of the real estate office to the reception area that made me look longingly towards the exit. It was that I felt, as much as heard, his voice. It was like he was standing just an inch beyond my personal space. Somehow I had the impression that he was whispering to me, yet the words were cloaked in a vitality that lost nothing for the fifty feet of air that separated his mouth from my ear. The sound made me remember my senior year in high school, when a boy asked me to go with him to a carnival. There was excitement and imagined danger in the rides and an unfamiliar feeling of energy, my being out in a strange place with bright lights after dark. I found that I did not particularly enjoy reliving the memory here, standing in a real estate office in the middle of the day with an attractive man drawing closer with each graceful step.
  
  By the time I turned around, the man who only an instant before had been sitting comfortably in an office chair at the far end of the office, was standing in front of me. He smiled in a way that made me think of wolves and hyenas. He was very charming.
  
  “I apologize for being so forward. I am Cyrus St. Loreto. I own the Bernebau Company and I believe you are looking for me.”
  
  I allowed him to take my hand and pull me slightly back towards the reception area. I reluctantly let go of the brass door handle.
  
  “Perhaps we could talk a bit. You surely have some questions for me, am I correct?”
  
  I thought, ‘I now appreciate the use of an odd, old word. This guy is both charming and mesmerizing’. Despite the insight, the fingers of my left hand remained, bent over the ridge of his hand, held in place by how good it felt at the moment. I thought he was going to kiss my hand, but then he raised both eyebrows, as if seeing my habit for the first time and managed to appear to be a sixteen year old boy, trying to stifle his embarrassment. I fought the urge to giggle. There was a distant part of my mind yelling, like a person in a hot air balloon passing flood victims standing on the roof of their half-submerged houses. I knew that there was something important that I should understand, yet all I could do was smile and wait.
  
  Something passed over his face, a cloud-shadow racing across a clearing in a primordial wood. The man stood more erect, his eyes became hooded and, surely a trick of the eye, his ears seemed to pull tighter to his head.
  
  “Sister Margaret, I believe you and I are expected at the hospital. Say goodbye to Mr. St Loreto and we’ll be on our way.” Somehow Sister Cletus was standing to my right, her very old and wrinkled hand on my forearm. It did not feel like she was grabbing my arm, rather it felt like I was leaning towards her.
  
  The man let go of my hand and looked at Sister Cletus with what I assumed was intended to be a smile, the look in his eyes, however, made the word ‘acknowledgment’ come to mind. Smiles were created by man as soon as there were more than three people. While it can convey a number of different meanings, ultimately it was the badge of man, risen above the rule of the jungle. Many want to interpret the look on a tiger’s face as a smile (provided we can observe it from a safe distance), its a safe bet that no other animal in the forest would let their guard down seeing the corners of the predator’s mouth turn upwards.
  
  “Svenlenka! Au fost mulți ani.” (Svenlenka! It has been many years.) A certain energy rose from his eyes.
  
  “Cyrus. Da, dar pentru unii ani nu ajută.” (Cyrus. Yes, but for some the years do not matter.) Sister Cleutus’ s voice changed. Not louder or even stronger, simply more certain. The tentativeness we hear in the speech of an old person is often due not to uncertainty as much as the lack of urgency. It’s an essential paradox of the elderly, the less time that (may remain for them), the less need they have to hurry. Sister Cletus sort of sounded like the Mother Superior, but there was an added sophistication that made each word a multifaceted jewel.
  
  “Este tragic că taxele anilor sunt exact pentru unii dintre noi.” (It is tragic, the toll the years exact from some of us.)
  
  Now free of my momentary paralysis, I turned slightly and looked at Sister Cletus. Her face was different. Still wrinkled with softened canyons ranging down from her eyes, rounded flesh hanging beneath her pale blue eyes. There was something else there a power that, like the light of an arc welder reflected off the sooty, metal walls of a factory, made you step back, look away.
  
  “Shall we go, Sister Margaret?” She was looking past me.
  
  “Until next time, Svetlana.” The man turned his attention to me and I began to hear the carnival sounds in my mind, “My young novitiate, if I may offer a word of advice. It’s in the form of a very old saying, your Sister Cletus will surely translate for you, once she has you safely away. “Cel mai bine este să vezi întregul animal înainte de a începe să-ți tragi coada.” (It’s best to see the whole animal before you begin to pull on it’s tail).
UP says:

October 4, 2018 at 8:49 am

Never like Cap’n Crunch. I was a Fruit Loops guy! I almost went to the Cap’n for this one, but couldn’t condense it to six.
- clarkscottroger says:
  
  October 5, 2018 at 8:22 pm
  
  lol… (hate to say it but I never ate either one (at least not a regular basis).. but came to the rescue for this otherwise challenging Six
Kristi says:

October 4, 2018 at 10:45 am

Cap’n Crunch strikes again! I never thought of the cereal for the prompt, but apparently it was a popular insight.
Several great descriptive images in this six. Your increased effort in writing is really paying off!
- clarkscottroger says:
  
  October 5, 2018 at 8:22 pm
  
  Thank you, Kristi
messymimi says:

October 4, 2018 at 7:44 pm

Oh, yes! Cap’n Crunch was always Sweetie’s favorite, he used to be able to eat a whole box in a sitting.
- clarkscottroger says:
  
  October 5, 2018 at 8:24 pm
  
  lol (I always thought that becoming an adult was to be able to do that (eat a whole box of cereal or ice cream)… but I can’t remember ever having done that…despite there being no adult around to tell me I can’t. That doesn’t seem fair! lol)
D. Avery @shiftnshake says:

October 6, 2018 at 8:33 am

Sleep-glued eyes; too descriptive! I liked the humor of these two characters.
Capn Crunch was the main food of most of the students at a college that I once attended. Which was amazing, as the food wasn’t bad. I will admit to buying a box of fruity pebbles about once a decade and making a meal of it. Dinner. I have no explanation for this. Oh, and I am over due…
- clarkscottroger says:
  
  October 7, 2018 at 12:08 pm
  
  thanks (yeah, Sister Margaret and Sister Cletus make an odd, but way interesting pairing. as a matter of fact, I included a scene in (my) reply to Denise’s comment from my WIP ‘Home and Heart’ that has one of the most enjoyable things about writing characters. I suspect there’s a cool literary term for it, but it’s when we learn some totally surprising thing about a character that we thought we knew, in this instance, about Sister Cletus.)