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 each week by Denise, the rules are simple, the stories are always a surprise.
Been a while, thought it would be fun to stop in on the pulpistic-world of Ian Devereaux. (Full Disclosure: well, that plus spending eternity last night in a fever dream. Normal winter cold, fortunately, but the finger paints and boxing gloves felt quite real).
The prompt word:
BLUR
The sound of hundreds of panicky house cats crossing a marble floor somewhere behind me posed an alternative to resolving the equation occupying my mind for an eternity: what is ‘Two plus Two’ using only primary color finger paints, a sewing needle while wearing boxing gloves. With the unalloyed relief of lights coming back on in a storm, I decided to believe I could open my eyes.
Doing so answered two questions and posed three:
- Awake (no expectations other than I could take off the over-sized boxing gloves)
- In my office, at my desk
(the night, holding a corner of my mind, insisted I continue in this suddenly, real-as-a-bathroom-sink format of a bulleted list)
- How long
- What day
- Is it going to change over to rain or continue (I knew enough not to pose the obvious follow-up question).
Taking a chance, I pushed off the desk with one hand while extending the opposing foot and now faced the windows behind me. Avoiding entanglement with excessive formatting, I took solace in the fact that, despite the occasional crystal-asterix flicking in the sheets of rainwater, the world beyond the glass was pretty much a non-committal blur.
Seemed about right for a Thursday morning in February.
*
About clarkscottroger
Enjoyed your preramble.
Loved your Six.
Delightful imagery for being sick or just be in February.
Happy Ground Hog day.
Stormy weather in an already gloomy month – yup, that is definitely a mood.
Great Six!
(Not sure why my comment appeared up here when I thought I was writing just a normal, separate comment that should’ve appeared at the bottom)
I like your description of the world as “a non-committal blur”.
thanks Frank
I’ve awakened a few times with the “how long/what day?” buzzing in my brain. It is most disorienting.
…(as he replies to the comment three days later) ikr? lol
I’ve had trouble posting comments on your site and I hope this one takes, which is to say, as with the other Sixes, you carry us along with unique wit and vision, and what a ride it is!
thank you Dora that is so kind of you to say
I hate February, every morning, every afternoon, every evening, nights too. Your six brightened a dull day, thank you.
totally welcome
Seemed about right for a Thursday morning in February.
After so much was so wrong.
Perfection.
..as Thursday becomes Sunday evening. lol
Pulpy- February -Six,Clark.
Even I can’t imagine having anything close to the level of talent, but, given how much I enjoy trying in this genre, I hold as the Grail Raymond Chandler’s description in ‘Farewell, my lovely’
It was a blonde. A blonde to make a bishop kick a hole in a stained glass window.
two words: damn!
Brain fog – that’s what it sounds like to me, Clark. Brain fog with boxing gloves.
Fever dreams, the closest to heaven or hell most of us get until it’s too late.