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

Now, officially, a no-hyperbole blog zone! Guaranteed reasonable, moderate and modest opinion and storytelling. For 200 years running!

Denise has, once again, opened the doors to the prompt-word corral and asks us to write, if we please, a wee story, a Six Sentence Story.

You can do that, right?

Of course, you can.

Lets start.

The word:

Finish

“No, let me go!” the young woman stepped out of reach, but not without including a seemingly spontaneous fouetté, the lacy wings of her scarf whipping the young man’s face.

As a beast of burden trapped between the lash and the yoke would be unsurprised to observe, this caused him to reach over the music rack, with its half-filled sheets of parchment manuscript, towards her, “Liebchen, I have three-quarters of… ”

“I am quite aware of your Schwammerl, and tempting it is, if you do not earn a decent dowry, mein vater will never permit us to marry; must I lock you in your studio?” The woman backed towards the door of the studio, her smile encouraging, yet in the depths of her dark eyes, a question hid like trapdoor spider at the bottom of a depression in the sand.

“Ach, Therese, you are so correct…though this melody enchants me, the fine people of Vienna would not look kindly on a symphony of only two movements,” the young man’s hands, inert on the ivory and ebony keys, overwrought iron awaiting the blacksmith’s pounding.

Pausing in her retreat, she let the ends of her scarf drape his shoulders, a betrothal veil on the non-traditional half an engaged couple and whispered, “Finish it, Franz!”