Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)
This is the Wakefield Doctrine’s contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.
Denise is the host.
(a three-part Six this week. can’t get ourselfs to put three into one post, so parts 2 and III will follow. no ego there, right? lol)
The prompt word:
BRANCH
“I’m tellin’ you guys, it’s the next exit, the one after where the baseball stadium used to be.”
Hope overflowing,
The most vocal of the people in the car was neither the one behind the wheel, nor the one who rode shotgun; the source of more than a third of the energy and two-thirds of decibels (measured on the Vance-Annoyance Scale at a solid 8.3), was the person in the backseat.
a car speeds down the interstate,
The 1964 Chevy BelAir wagon, blue paint on the hood and roof prematurely rusty, like a well-intentioned man determined to overcome a flawed up-bringing, wove among the other participants in the linear demolition derby that was rush-hour in the capitol city; descending the branching exit ramp, the view went from 60 MPH fishbowls of stressed commuters to a full scale diorama: factory buildings of stone and brick, many long vacant were preserved like dinosaurs in a museum, held together with wire and cable, a single plaque in a sidewalk wall the only reminder of creatures that once ruled the Earth.
fear distills life’s promise.
“Hell, why don’t we hire a roadie or something, this equipment is pretty heavy,” with his back to the loading dock, the third passenger began to pull the equipment cases from the open tailgate, oblivious to the other two; the one who’d driven and the one who rode shotgun, stood and stared at the brick walls that transformed a simple, rude alley into a canyon. The connecting bridge between two buildings showing the passing of Ages in random boarded-up windows, the walls lichen’d with graffiti, vain memorials to love and hope; “Hey guys, we’re due to go on at 2:30, how about you give a brother a hand here?”
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About clarkscottroger
Story telling and song…yes!!
Sad echoes of once thriving cities gone to hell in a hand basket…….and you didn’t even mention tent cities.
(The fun, imo, is in the description of settings, and urban sidewalks are so rich in ‘potential’ detail. But, as you mentioned replying to comments at your Six this week, there’s that damn limit of Six and only Six sentences)
you are the champion
thanks, Paul
I like the Haiku
Dude! Thanks for acknowledging the riskiest element to my Six… not a pome guy, but haikus are, imo, to writers like singing in the shower is to most of us… ‘Three lines, how hard can it be?’
lol
Your descriptions are brilliant as always.
Thankee, Miz M
Thanks for the appearance (well, I did take the liberty of writing you into it) in this morning’s Six. Scolding affectionately is such a rare, but appreciated thing in my (fictional) worlds
Story, song, picture, poem, perfect!
Thank you, Keith
I like those directions: “where the baseball stadium used to be”. Since it is no longer there, it would be easy to miss. I remember riding in a 60s Chevy station wagon.
so maybe that is a regional colloquialism! kinda like the down Maine phrase, ‘you can’t get there from here’
“Hell, why don’t we hire a roadie or something, this equipment is pretty heavy,” As an ex-roadie, me and my back resemble that remark. ;-)
lol
how less exciting the job was at three am than at 6 pm
C. E. beat me to it with the the haiku comment, Clarke. Nice structure to the story with that.
Thanks, J.
When it comes to forms of poetry that tempt the unskilled, it’s like they say, “Haikus are as easy to write as limericks except for the dirty words”