Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)
This is the Doctrine’s contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.
Hosted by Denise
Last time at the Café
This week’s prompt word:
STRIKE
The helicopter rose from the rooftop, it’s circular down-draft buffeting the shoulders of the three men standing together in a pattern that implied bonds both recent and timeless. The machine paused, as if to strike a pose, the better to remind the humanity below of its progress beyond the days of fixed wings and desperate prayers.
One of the three, the Sophomore, ran towards the dark rectangle hollowed-out of the brick stairwell; the downward angle of his torso as he moved shouted defiant submission at the blades rending the air above the building.
One of the two, Tom, walked with measured strides to the edge of the rooftop, his left arm crooked to his head in the most 21st Century of poses, cell phone against his ear, both talisman and charm as he spoke; the sound of his words offered up after the Proprietor, already little but a swatch of red hair on a white blanket showing through the plexiglass door of the craft.
The last of the three, even before the bright yellow star on the tail section disappeared among the urban canyons and buttes, climbed the wrought-iron staircase up to what Chris took joy in calling, ‘the Penthouse’ and stepped into the room.
The tall, thin man, stared at the slate blackboard, the tray along it’s bottom edge with colored chalk in varied sizes giving it the appearance of broken abacus, written in across the center, in a hand both controlled and hasty, the words: ‘Saul of Tarsus’, ‘the Order of Lilith’ and a series of numbers, at once mnemonic, while random, somehow disturbing.