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, guided by the simplest of rules: use the prompt word and tell a story in exactly six sentenae

Here, this week, in this particular Six Sentence Story, we return to an old ‘story-world’, that of Parchman Farm. For reasons unknown, this horrific episode in the never-ending story of man’s inhumanity to man, offers a imagination-conducive canvas. Here are links to a few previous Parchman Farm Sixes:  ‘Release’  ‘Shake’  ‘Polish’

Prompt word:

SECURITY

“Theys been some talk, of late, about security here at the Farm.”

Still seated on Enola, the Appaloosa that, at least in the company of the Warden, Boss Roscoe was fond of saying, ‘reminded him of who he was and who his charges were’; the man who mattered more than god to most of the men of Camp 8, didn’t bother to take off his hat.

The day in the fields of Sunflower County had been typical of June: angry-red sunrise followed by such spiteful heat that the bent-shadows of the convicts seemed to dig into the soil between the rows of cotton as the men dragged their chains across the open fields.

That the camp boss left his hat on meant one of two things but probably both: he was gonna keep it short and someone was going to regret anew the crime that brought them to Parchman Farm.

As any man still talking after five years at the Farm, might whisper, ‘When a lesson was to be made, the words they flowed like Spring flood waters scouring the lowlands’.

The man on horseback, inclined as he was to mostly do, instead of say, preferred to coat words like ‘prisoner’, ‘discipline’ and ‘security’ in honey, choosing to believe that poison can be made to taste sweet; but the men now standing in front of him looked only at the ground, as fealty to whatever god ruled below came quickly to those long enough at ‘the Farm to forget what freedom felt like.