Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

This is the Wakefield Doctrine’s contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.

Hosted by Denise, it requires on qualifying characteristic: to be of precisely six sentences in length,

Prompt word:

SHADOW

“I swear to god, if either of you so much as hints at a metaphor, it’s the last thing you will ever do.”

The man began the process of getting up off the sidewalk; nothing brusque or artless, which would be the style of one his two companions, being the center of the gang, his was the way of attraction not overt coercion.

The intersection of the alley and Fountain Street was as it had been prior to their ill-advised choice of mugger victim, the original obelisk of dark shadow divided at it’s base into a curvilinear delta by the anemic inflow of illumination from a streetlight on the opposite sidewalk.

“Not me,” the second of the trio leaned against the brick wall of a boarded up social services office, almost but not quite out-of-reach of the first, “Where you go, I go, you know that.”

“Where’d he go, I’ll fuckin’ kill ’em,” the third, rising improbably from a pool of ebon fluid, staggered in a rough circle around his two cohorts. enclosing them rather than connecting in any discernable way.

The three tried to laugh, failed and settled for varying renditions of pain and discomfit, bound by their common substance dependency, separated by the degree of suffering and desperation; one of them, probably the first, once,  on a better, more hopeful day, suggested they call themselves, The Solar Eclipse Boys, but then the day’s score kicked in and and stole their artistic ambitions.

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