Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)
This is the Six Sentence Story
It, (the story, not this site), is our contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop hosted by Denise and participated in by hundreds of people with an interest in writing fiction, some of whom actually write a story of six and only six sentences and link it to the aforementioned blog. You should be among those willing to take a chance and reap the benefits of co-fraternity (and, of course, co-sorority) with us folks what like to write and such.
ya, know?
This week is an Ian Devereux week. So the Six that follows is the next installment in, the Case of the Missing Fig Leaf. (New to this bloghop? Been away? Go ahead and click on that ⇐ link. I guarantee you’ll enjoy our week’s contribution all the more.)
This week’s prompt word:
ELASTIC
“Dr. Thunberg, an envelope just arrived,” Kendra’s disembodied voice held a touch of shrillness on the interrogative, but then darkened and sank on the passive verb as it hung in the autumn light, leaching most of the color, and all of the softness, from Leanne Thunberg’s office overlooking the quad at Radcliffe University.
The head of Advanced Anthropology and Cultural Semiotics frowned; her antipathy towards advanced technology metastasized into tension as a subtle clockwork quality braced her shoulders and the natural elasticity of the connective tissue in her neck eroded; her therapist’s voice whispered from a private corner of her mind, “Remember, Annie, you are responsible for how you feel.”
Serenity appeared and moved tentatively, like a first-time traveler separated from the security of the tour group, negotiating elbow-and-glare-studded crowds in a foreign city, upwards towards her eyes, “Well, don’t keep me in suspense, Ken”, as her admin placed a yellow, 8.5 x 11 inch mailing envelope on her desk; at first glance it was no different from the stack already in Leanne’s in-box, on second glance it looked like the survivor of a death match in a post office sorting room; blue and red ink smeared like blood and tears on both sides, everywhere except for the address label, that remained as untouched as a virgin princess officiating at a medieval jousting tournament.
Inside, a single sheet of paper, hotel letterhead written in 12-pt German:
‘Dr. Thunberg,
You don’t know me, but I’m in Germany with your husband, Elias, rather I should say, ‘I was with Elias’ until a day ago when I managed to escape from the Abbey at Eibingen; at least I think I escaped; I have no idea why I’m writing to you, his ex; something tells me its what those people in the Abbey want.
PS Your ex, Elias, might be a famous scholar, but he threw me under whatever they call buses around here, by my standards that makes him kind of a dick, er please send money to my PayPal account as follows.’
Leanne held the sheet of paper up to the light, a sepia X-ray showing faint smears of rusted brown; in a dark, nearly hidden part of her, an atavistic spirit stirred, ancient muscles pulling at her ears, flaring nostrils and dilating the pupils of her eyes; the part of her personality that had her in therapy, for no other reason than to keep her position as department head, etched a smile on her face and she turned to the keyboard, first sending a thousand dollars to the account on the letter and then, an email, ‘Ian, I hear Germany is beautiful this time of year, join me on a field trip?
About clarkscottroger
Nice setup in intro.
Always enjoy these Ian Devereaux installments. Like watching life movie reels – waiting to find out what happens next :D
Which one, which one….”blue and red ink smeared like blood and tears on both sides,”
In this instance, for me, and being partial to the artist and his early records, this soundtrack best played upon reading the last word.
Looking forward to the “field trip”.
Thank you, the envelope ‘scene’ seems to the popular one this week
shrill and disembodied… I love it already. Good one
Thanks, man
almost biblical story – very nice.
ty
I like your description of the envelop having gone through a death match at the post office where everything but the address label lived to tell the tale.
funny how some elements in stories have more presence than others (if only I could do that at will…all the time! lol)
Well, at least her request got through. Now, will she be around to receive what she asked for? is the $64,000 Question.
Yeah, I suspect this is not the last we’ll hear from Ms. Whitelaw. Girls got grit
Mesmerizing–and I appreciated the reminder that we are responsible for how we feel.
Thanks, Z!
You’re welcome.
That envelope appears to be one to handle only while wearing gloves.
Still more to be discovered and you keep us coming back for more. . .which is a good thing for said author.
Well done.
I keep reminding myself that, back in the day, we’d wait a week for a tv serial update* or even longer when it was part of a movie at the theatre**
*the word didn’t quite exist back then
** twenty-five cents for the maintinee
Well … you got me! I’m hooked.
cool
I’m still thinking on, the sound waves created by Kendra speaking through an intercom can actually leach color and softness from the room. She needs to be fired and replaced immediately. You always go above and beyond, Clark. Impelling read.
Such descriptions! You have the art!
Thank you, Lisa