Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)
Following is the Doctrine’s contribution to the Unicorn Challenge bloghop
Hosted by jenne and ceayr, the rules are the most minimal: a limit of 250 words for a story. Of course, that presupposes that the minimal doesn’t go all Janus on us, as most of the writers here are of a level of imagination to make ten score and fifty words read like ‘Ulysses’ or ‘War and Peace’.
The world moved.
“No, that’s not bloody possible…”
The expanse of the mown grass on which the man stood resisted any easy reference point to contradict what his eyes, with the increasing collusion of his inner ear, were signaling. For the moment, his brain, with its dry, rational, preemptively superior, ‘cogito, ergo sum’ dismissed what the man in the blue uniform witnessed.
The motion was even, consistent and, were it not for the alternating light-dark stripes marching towards him like a tsunami on a seashore in Flatland, simply not possible.
“Get a grip, mate. Somehow, you’ve been drugged and put in this place. What’s the last thing you remember?”
The man’s rational certitude was rudely interrupted by the first shot of adrenalin tensing his legs. Unsurprisingly, a fight immediately broke out between his higher-order brain and lowly medulla oblongata. In defense of Man’s current state of sophistication, the former was bested only by a classic sucker-punch from the his lower abdomen in a full ‘what-the-fuck’ survival response. Suffice to say, his cerebellum was caught off guard, cynical eyebrow frozen in mid-flight.
The immeasurably vast field of green moved, inexorably, towards him.
The world began to roar. This did nothing to diminish the delusion of the earth moving nor the illusion of motion. He ran.
The last thought his oxygen deprived mind, more picture than words: A boy running with the near weightless stride of youth, outsized sports jersey billowing in response to his cry, “I never want to stop”.
About clarkscottroger
Now here’s a thing – on the day you posted this, in my part of the world the earth really did move. There I was typing away quietly when the floor and walls around me, the desk, chair, all wobbled, and wobbled. Yep. Earthquake – 4.7 magnitude. Then we had another the next day. How about that?
Coincidences aside, your blow by blow account of your character’s out-of-this-world experience is gripping. I really like your analysis of the battles within his brain as he struggles to respond to whatever it is that’s happening. I’ve been doing a bit of reading about brains and such things lately, so this struck a chord with me.
Love the ending: ‘the near weightless stride of youth’ – beautiful. Freedom!
damn, ain’t this virtual world (specifically, the corner of it’s limitless geography designated the blogosphere)?
yeah, I love that line too… distinctly recall (but I can’t remember when) on my drive to the office seeing a jogger on the road… good pace, mid-twenties not really struggling followed a time (long enough for the first image to clear but the impression retained) when I glanced down a street in a residential development and there happened to be a young boy (low to sub teens) running to catch up with some friends. He barely touched the ground. It was one of those moments. I knew that the difference in the two runners was, in part, the weight of their respective years of life.
damn! I love those serendipitous observation-moments
Superb depiction of inner turmoil and external stimulation.
My favourite words – cynical eyebrow frozen in mid-flight.
thanks c
How fascinating… (and don’t worry about the brain).
Sorry, Clark, can’t do justice to this excellent story tonight. (In Berlin visiting my nephew and family. Forgot to get WiFi pastword and eyesnot up to using phone. Tomorrow… Jenne
fer sure
lol (I’m fond of explaining, re working on my phone: ‘My fingers are too big and my eyes too small’ have a good return trip
Your descriptions call up a disturbing, surreal scenario, Clark – deftly delivered.
You draw us in to the MC’s viewpoint, balancing his internal confusion with his body’s attempt to make sense of what’s happening.
I too like ‘the near weightless stride of youth’.
And ‘I never want to stop.’
Is he running from? Or towards?
Or just simply running?
I really like this story.
(PS Excellent whistlestop tour of Berlin today!)
good points! Funny about story-writing (at least at my level)… it’s more a matter of following a trail than building a house (god knows how Outliners are able to construct engaging, full tales)
I suspect, Doctrinistically-speaking, Outlining draws more rogers than Seat-of-the-Pants… (yeah, clarks do tend to be more comfortable with chaos than our Herd Member brethern)
I rarely know the end of a story when I start writing. Except for a longer piece I’m working on. (shhh!) There, I know the end, but am still working on how to get there. How lucky are we all to have time to ‘go out to play’ like this with words?
totally get the attraction of breadcrumbs that start in the safe meadow but invariably veer into the dark forest