Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)
This is our contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.
Hosted by Denise each and every week, it’s fun and simple: write a story using the week’s prompt word and do it in six (and only six) sentences.
[The Six that follows is burdened with (our) ambition to write three Six Stories that share a common fictional world]This week’s prompt word:
RANGE
Falling-down out-of-breath from staying ahead of the big kids, who were all at least, seventh-graders, the boy made it out through the open gate of the waist-high chain link fence surrounding the elementary school and was halfway to the safety of the surrounding neighborhood before being spotted.
Giving up on ever taking a breath that wasn’t in a rush to leave his lungs, the eleven-year-old checked the laces on his PF Flyers, took a mature-beyond-his-age moment to review his range of options; finding none, lurched to his feet and ran, crouched over to avoid early detection.
He knew, by the unspoken rules, if he could encounter an adult, doing whatever adult-thing they might be doing on a November Friday afternoon, and, if he could engage them in some level of direct interaction, his pursuers would be compelled to give up the chase.
Cutting through a yard, even in such dire circumstance, the boy made sure to stay on the limited corridor where one lawn abutted the next, he was out-of-sight long enough to take refuge under one of the few porches big enough to provide a hiding place.
Crouching, one thin leg crossed under him in the damp leaves and the other, upright in front providing a temporary ledge to rest his arms while protecting his narrow chest, his four tormenters passed along the street in front of his hiding place, their frustration made more obvious when viewed through the series of diamond-shaped openings in the latticework of the porch, out of sight and, for now, out of mind.
He waited, painfully conscious of the fact that twice in a single day, he was forced to accept two things: Diane liked him a lot more than he thought, and sixth grade was still the worst time in his life.
About clarkscottroger
Middle school – probably the MOST awkward time of life – seems like this kid is living its most tormenting nature.
Testing. I left a response earlier but it didn’t show here.
ten-four!
Very enjoyable story about preteen angst. Thank you.
So long ago!!
yeah, and we do not want to do the math!
Gripping existential moment in a young boy’s life through his POV: yep, the ups and downs are enormous. A great read.
thank you, D
Nice chase scene. I like how you added the surprise of Diane at the end opening up perhaps a motivation for this chase in the first place.
Middle school was tough, as were the years leading up to that. And the years after. If they don’t get you with their fists, their words hit sharp and deeper.
Yeah, touched a nerve. Good job!
thankee
One of my favorite jokey name, whenever a story requires a school to be identified is ‘the William Golding Junior High’
Here in Oceana, in my time, this remarkable separation of the elementary grades were even more focused in Junior High School: seventh and eight grade.
what possibly could go wrong, psycho-socially speaking? lol
Time to hang up the fly paper.
lol