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, governed by simple rule: ‘Do it in Six or don’t do it at all.’

Tom and I are writing a Serial Six Sentence Story: ‘…of Heroes and the MisUnderstood‘. (If you’re just starting, then this link will provide the whole story.)

If, however, you’ve been following along, here are Tom’s most recent, which serve as a lead-in: ‘Two Sides‘ and ‘Svikja‘.

Prompt word:

BANK

“Hey, doll, not for nothin’ but I’m pretty much a third-date-before-the-slings-and-trapeze come out, kinda guy,” I was doing my best to lighten up the not-so-funny turn of events as my former captive-chick snapped a final lock on the harness I let her put me in; she immediately waved up at the helicopter hovering in the dark-and-rainy night sky.

Getting hoisted into the sky at gun point wasn’t entirely without redeeming value, given the panoramic view I had of my recent crash-on-a-deserted-London street experience; I could see Rue being bundled into the front passenger seat by the guy who kinda seemed to set off the whole evening action sequence, but setting aside my growing resentment, I called down as he raced around the front of the SUV and the driver’s side door;

“Hey, Moonbeam, take good care of my friend there and, as my boss, Lou, has been known to advise, ‘When everything’s gone to hell, your best bet is to do the opposite of what your rational brain is telling you; it’ll surprise the other guy and chances are they’ll be aiming right where you’re not’.”

The guy gave me a ‘thumbs up’ like in some 1940s war movie; I couldn’t help but think that maybe, if I had rays coming out of my hands, I’d be kinda trying to fuck up the rocket launcher or the helicopter, you know, mess up their night too, but then thought, different strokes for different folks; I did manage a kind of salute, but by then they’d disappeared down the deserted street in the direction opposite the rocket launcher.

Turning my attention to my little Dom, I realized that after securing my harness, she went and climbed on my back with her left hand to a spare strap, like a subway rider but with an added personal touch of wrapping her legs around my waist.

“There is a God,” I laughed, twisting the harness in such a way that we were face-to-face; never one to underestimate the power of spontaneous romance in my never-ending effort to learn what it is a woman wants, but, as God is my witness, I’d swear I saw a corner of her mouth twist upwards.

My positive vibes disappeared as the helicopter started to bank in the direction opposite where Moonbeam had driven; all I could think was how Lou was gonna react when he got the news that I managed to let Rue get kidnapped right in front of me; it killed my mood faster than a bunch of parents showing up a day early for Parent/Student weekend at a coed college dorm.

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