Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)
the setting: the Unicorn Challenge bloghop
the players: jenne and ceayr and a cast of tens
the premise: beginning with a new photo prompt, write a story
the rules: maximum word count is two hundred fity (250)
(While we accept that this particular bloghop format does not, actually, encourage the telling of serial tales, there are times when the temptation exceeds self-restraint. If there is need for proof of the existence of a ‘Muse’ for those who would write, then characters are incontrovertible evidence. We have, all of us, found ourselves in the company of characters that, to use the vernacular, ‘write themselves’. This week, we indulge our selfs. The two protangonists in this week’s contribution to ‘the corn first showed up: <click here>. What can we say? They write themselves)
“Don’t worry, I’m a natural-born trapper. I can follow the prey anywhere!”
The woman, dressed in shades of gray and ebony that made her indistinguishable from the alleys and lanes of the less-travelled parts of Glasgow, jumped slightly, the better to cuff her companion’s ear.
“We had ’em coming out of that wine cellar! Are we home enjoying dinner?” The tilt of her head produced a curious reversal, surely it is in human relationships that trompe l’oeil found their natural environment.
“No! We are not!”
For his part, the slightest of shrugs prevented any serious injury, which was never a concern of his for any of the countless years the pair had been together.
The urban canyons and abandoned wine cellars had provided sustenance for the two since…well, since either of them could remember. Somehow, the night was betraying the two as their prey continued to remain ahead of their patient stalking. This unexplored country for the pair who, as subjects of whispered tales of fearful parents to innocent children were simply the Crone and the Stone. Cautionary bedtime stories to keep them out of harm’s way
As they crossed the small wooden bridge, the forest around them blazed in artificial light. LED suns tethered to trees, the better to kill fairy tale monsters
The man, larger than he wanted to be, looked down; the woman, smaller than she felt with him, looked up with no regret,
“We twa hae run about the braes,
and pou’d the gowans fine.”
About clarkscottroger
Sometimes, Clark, you astound me.
A quote from Rabbie, I am genuinely impressed (and delighted).
A braw tale, but leaves one (well, this one anyway) wondering if it’s really over.
well, much of the credit goes to you and your cohort… (I meant that thing I wrote in the intro about characters that write themselfs. And, as the link back to the previous tale reminds us these two (mythical?/mundane?) characters, the Crone and the Stone are just…engaging.)
Sure, I’m the writer (of this story), but speaking only for myself, in order to present engaging characters, I need to, somehow, juxtapose the world ‘out there’ with the world I live in.
So thanks for letting hang out with (the virtual) ceayr and jenne
Masterfully written, clark. ‘ LED suns tethered to trees, the better to kill fairy tale monsters’. Great image. And great to find a fan of an under-rated genius in Warren Zevon.
thanks, D
the fun of this writing thing is stumbling on word combos and remembering the good parts of an earlier time.
I am glad not to meet this pair except in your excellent story.
Thank you, M
Robert Burns and Warren Zevon. I can now say good night.
lol
ikr?
I like that: ‘the Crone and the Stone’.
More of your ingenious imagery, some of which I’m tempted to borrow. (Doffs hat to a master.)
And Rabbie himself to end with.
There’s surely some Scottish blood lurking in there somewhere in the Doctrine.
(Unlike a young French lady with whom I was chatting yesterday. ‘Glasgow, that’s in Ireland, ‘ she ventured. I raised my eyebrows. ‘England?’ she tried. I glowered. I put her out of her ignorance before she got to Wales.)
for the record, I use the word ‘Crone’ in the positive sense (or intent (or imagiings) as:
Crones. Celtic traditions contained a rich lode of myths about a divine Old Woman. In Gaelic (both Irish and Scottish)she is called the Cailleach (from caille, mantle or veil, thus veiled one.) [The Q-Celtic word cailleach is related to the Latin pallium, which survived as the name for a priestly stole. (From Suppressed Histories.)
Hey, not quite as bad a smear job as what they did to Lilith!* right?
Anyway, I appreciate you and ceayr going along with my indulgence in characters inspired by the perception of virtual friends
* Lilith was, as I’m sure your know, Adam’s first wife.