Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)
This is the Six Sentence Story
It is a writing-prompt bloghop, hosted by Denise.
A prompt word each week. Six sentences is the number of sentences a story is required to have; no more and no less.
[Note: This Six is one of a series of stories set in the infamous Parchman Farms, a state prison in Mississippi. The era is early Twentieth Century. Following are links to to previous Parchman Farm Six Sentence stories: ‘Shake’ ‘Polish’ ‘Agreed’ ‘Release’]
This week’s word:
PASSION
“The Lord examines the righteous, but the wicked, those who love violence, he hates with a passion!”
On the far side of the wrought-iron gates of Camp 8, the preacher threatened damnation and promised heavenly rewards, his god shielding him from the scourge of irony; now, hours into the afternoon, he brought the Sunday service to an end, armpits of his white suit proud laurels of his victory over the devil.
Just to the left of the front door, Billy Tulane crouched protectively next to the oldest convict in Parchman Farm, “Jes like Boss Roscoe said last night, ‘ceptin he left out the part about how long this fool can talk,” being young Billy remembered every detail of the surprise visit from the cage boss the evening before; being old the other man didn’t bother, having learned that a man’s spirit took up room inside him and keeping life spare and simple was the key.
The convicts of Camp 8 moved off the porch in search of rest in the remains of the day, ignoring the scraps of the feast enjoyed by the preacher and the warden who, in the heat-blurred distance, passed through the open gate out of the prison.
“What I don’t understand is how you stay so calm,” the young man slid down the rough pine wall to a sitting position next to the old man, “all that talk about God and salvation, gots to work a man up.”
Moving only his eyes, the wood cross worn around his neck in a protective embrace of ebony and faith, the old man stared out over the endless fields, “That preacher man done left the classroom early, passion is to conviction as the seed is to the flame, only together can we use their power.”
About clarkscottroger
Great six sentence sermon, loved the music.
thanks
Enjoyed this “episode” from your Parchman Farms series. Gritty and visual Six.
Excellent six. I could sense I was there on the outside, looking in, while sensing the aesthetics. What more can one ask? Nothing, I would say and I did.
Thank you, Lisa
Hombre! Muy bueno. (Still celebrating cinco de mayo here…) No, excellent job. Have you found a new passion?
Same one… good though to see it again, help keep the energy flowing
Some good timely reminders here in this SSS set in the Parchman Farms. Well done, as always.
Thanks Pat
Those fire and brimstone pastors bug the daylights out of me, so i tend to ignore them, too.
yes’m
I like the music here, but Lyle Lovett’s preacher song came to mind as I read.
I enjoy this series. Some learnin’ an ponderin for young Billy Tulane this week.
(one of my favorite Lyle tunes)
This, the Parchman Farm series is so interesting… complete surprise to me. Was not aware of the prison (or its horrifying story) before this, one of those things that makes this writing thing so cool (like music in a way) where something says, ‘this is where you need to go to properly tell your story’
or something like that
WOW! Excellent!
Thank you, Susan
‘His God shielding him from the scourge of irony’. Loved it. I still shudder at the old fire and brimstone sermons. Everyone’s going to hell, unless you repent.
They do know how to maintain social distancing in heaven,
Love the image you chose to illustrate a six that’s puts you right smack bang in that time and place. Those fire and brimstone preachers are always terrifying, and make for brilliant characters in any art I think. I will go and read your other Parchman Farm stories a bit later.
oh man, the story (such as I’ve acquired from browsing the ‘net) of this/that place… state-run slaver in the first quarter of the 20th C. (I find the imagery useful in a horrible-sounding way… if I have to do heavy physical labor (aka mow the lawn or cut brush) I imagine how long I would last if I’d been a new prisoner…. answer, prob not that long)
… knew a guy once who did some time, not in Parchman, but down south and he mentioned a practice suggested to new prisoners that is the kind of detail that makes a person (and especially a writer) say, “No way! But I believe you.”)
lol… sure, let me know, be happy to share it.