Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)
This is the Doctrine’s contribution to the Unicorn Challenge bloghop.
A word-count constrained imagination contest hosted by jenne and ceayr, the prompt is an image and the only limit is ‘tell your story in under 250 words’
“Gimme a reason, that I can use. The boat’s bound in an hour, I need an excuse.”
The gull acknowledged my request in the manner of all birds and many people. One eye looks and then, the other looks. Two opinions. Each view valid as the other; Emerson’s foolish consistency multiplied at the speed of the internet.
The groans of the hull against its berth gave lie to the ruler-straight horizon. Stepping off the dock I was offered a final mute warning as the gunnel sank in rhythm to the sea.
The fo’c’sle smelled of quiet desperation. A part of my mind raised an eyebrow, ‘Irony dead ahead!’ But like the seagull on the wall, it had no place on a fishing trawler. It, the cynical perspective, not the boat, belonged to a life both natural and inconsistent. ‘Remind you of someone?’ The fading voice, hostage to my refusal to separate practicality from the artistic, was borne away by the freshening southeasterly wind.
Towards the stern, the engine rumbled into life. The blue sky maintained its indifference as we set a course for the fishing grounds, rolling from side to side, confirmation of the approaching weather.
Neither the firmament above nor the earth below seemed capable of exerting an emotional hold on me. I found it increasingly easier, if not simpler, to let myself be transported to the next place I would work and toil. Surely, at one of these stopping off points, I would find a personal connection.
About clarkscottroger
Sometimes the work and toil take over and become life, and it’s so hard.
tru dat
Another wee gem, Clark, polished in your own inimitable style.
This entire piece, just like the fo’c’sle, smelled of quiet desperation…
ha! See my Emerson and raise me a Thoreau .. right?
thx
Ah, the sea, the sea…
I wouldn’t go on one of those things – but only men are allowed anyway.
actually that has (been) changing, at least away from it being a forbidden thing…
I was captivated. Intense story-ette.
ty
Is this what resignation smells like? Or perhaps the air of complacency?
surely scent/smells/omg-what’s-that-you’re-wearing is the closest thing to magic/the divine to be under-appreciated in everyday life, no?
setting aside it’s ability to over-ride one’s prefrontal and totally broach the walls of the hypothalamus it (a certain scent) is the closest thing the world permits to a mechanism for time travel
Empathy could be a bridge to that connection. Even that bird in the photo scans the horizons for empathetic people who have left scraps.
yeah, they thing they are arising above their base nature… totally confirming it