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

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

Hosted by Denise, constrained by a sentence limit (high and low) of six, there are worse ways to spend the remaining time you have on earth.

Previously, in our tale…

Prompt word:

RUSH

“Do what I say and you will get out of this alive and …sane.”

Hate to admit it, but hearing Anya Clarieaux taking charge of the current situation inspired a brief rush of hope that I’d make it out of wherever the hell this was.

Anya possessed that quality found in great leaders, religious zealots and successful conmen, a palpable sense of conviction in their ability to deal with the world; though I gotta say, that her final coordinating conjunction linking ‘alive’ to ‘sane’ raised more than a few hairs on the back of my neck.

“Starting with Rosetta I want everyone to describe what you remember and what seems to be wrong with you right at this moment, go:”

Rosetta laughed an obscenity and said, “Nothing but managing somehow staying awake during your endless speech in the restaurant, that and I’m fuckin’ tied to this chair;

the Sophomore nodded, “You said something about regretting something and…” he paused and looked sidelong at his girlfriend, “there was a flash of light and then here, as to what’s wrong with me now… I’m thinking Rosetta is killin’ it with the bondage so I guess nothing’s wrong;”

Sister Aclima stared defiantly at Anya with her lips pressed into a keloid scar across her face… her eyes, were anything but passive:

Brother Lymphocytus, “Fock you, if you’d a let us go about our business we wouldn’t be tied up here and such, as for what’s wrong, the first thing I do when this is over is report you to the Guide Union… saints be praised;”

“Don’t ask me, I was doom-scrolling on my phone and next thing I know, I’m here in what appears to be the formal living room of an early 20th Century colonial house sitting with my arms secured and my ego anything but; that said, I have full confidence in you and the Omni Corp and don’t hardly suspect the scary hand of a certain businessman headquartered in Miami,” I looked around at the others, “ok a hint: his name rhymes with ‘St Loreto’.”

Anya bestowed her best ‘Don’t worry smile’ and continued, “Excellent, now everyone close your eyes… sorry, but seeing how you’re tied up, there’s nothing you can do about the sonic shock of the incoming stun grenades, but Omni Corporation’s Hostage Recovery Team assumes the worst.”

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