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. This ‘hop has but one rule, that I’ll share with thee, Six and only six sentences your stories must be.
Previously in our series: the Sophomore sits down with the tall, thin man.
(Warning! This Six is unabashedly a self-imposed writing exercise. Our challenge: to continue the on-going scene of the meeting of the tall, thin man and the Sophomore, with the emphasis on description of both the physical and emotional states of the two characters. Ideally showing and not telling.)
This week’s prompt word:
CHALLENGE
…“Do you know what Hell really is?”
The Sophomore settled back into a chair that was the epitome of minimalist design, in the words of one of his favorite authors, ” …meant to create an alternative to standing and nothing more; moveable and stable which, when you thought about it, are the only really essential qualities a chair required.” The thick folds of his grey-wool overcoat provided support to his lower back, the excessive volume of material in the garment covered up his psycho-congenital slouch and, as a bonus, by leaving it on, he sent a non-verbal message as impossible to ignore as a cat tossed into an occupied shower stall.
“Yeah, of course I know what hell is, kid,” a pink tide rose from the top of the young man’s shirt collar, “If everything they say about how I was somehow transported through time and all, that’d make me your father’s age and, before you even think about trying the ‘you’re young, you don’t know about the painful challenges life can throw at you,’ allow me to retort: Fuck you, I have the scars that prove I’m a survivor and no one, especially an over-dressed, hypo-limbic metro with an exaggerated sense of his own insight into human nature is in any position to challenge my right to do what I want.”
The tall, thin man tilted back in his chair, let his lips turn up at the corners, every bit the scantily clad magician’s assistant and lit a cigarette; the blue-grey smoke formed a skirmish line between his thoughts and the young man’s anger.
“You really gonna try and go meta-a-mano with me?”
*
About clarkscottroger
Nice description of the interchange between the sophomore and the tall thin man. I can just see how the kid with a “psycho-congenital slouch” sat in the chair. I especially liked how “the blue-grey smoke formed a skirmish line between his thoughts and the young man’s anger.”
thanks, Frank (this is turning out to be an interesting exercise)*
*If only I’d of found my classes in high school as engaging and enjoyable! lol
smoking, teenage angst, and questions of the meaning of life – doesn’t get better than this.
Masterfully weaved, master Weaver!
thx ‘aestus
As always, well told.
thankee, Miz M
A rare glimpse into a side of the tall, thin man we’ve never seen. Acerbic, he seems to have a beef with the Sophomore, which is to say a beef with….well, you know.
Fisticuffs. Sounds as they are at the brink of. Looking forward to next scene.
yeah, as I was ‘saying’ to Frank… too bad I didn’t view course work the same, back when I was a student to the school there
Excellent… as always!
Thank you, Chris
I had to look up meta-a-mano ….but that’s my ignorance. It is a brilliant piece.
I wish I could insert so much detail to ‘show, not tell’ in my stories.
sorry about the made up phrase (meta-a-mano) it was interesting though, I had one sentence to begin with:
You really gonna try and go meta with me?
but through the re-works, the idea of a balanced conflict between two equals grew
so I naturally did what we all tend to do, combine the two good ideas… except I paraphrase the real expression mano-a-mano to end up with the last line.
writing sure can be strange, no?
It totally worked, though!
Can see those two, facing off for the sly battle of verbal wits. Ouch!
I can’t wait to see how this plays out! (lol)
“Meta-a-mano” is a great phrase, especially in the context of this story.