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...

(Language Advisory. ….’cause, well, Rosetta!)

Prompt word:

FOIL

                                                         “motherfucker!”
“Go bhfaighir bás gan an sagart” *
                         “whoa that was truly some bad shit…”
“if there is a god, she had better have a good reason  oww“

The multilingual cacophony filling the room sent me back to my first arena concert. Released from my restraints, though still in the formal living room of a vacant house, I recalled, with fondness, the hour or so of Marshall amplifier-induced deafness that followed me home that night.

I smiled at the sight of Anya Clarieaux giving orders to the Hostage Rescue Team in her preferred language: ‘Do what I say-ese’. She caught me watching, of course, but I still savored the brief reminder that, despite having foiled an attempt to kidnap us, she wasn’t superhuman.

Waving the man away, Anya threw me a ‘what else would you expect‘ shrug, followed by five seconds of direct eye contact; almost immediately, with a mere finger-circling motion towards my shouting companions, she made me responsible for them.

*  “I hope you die without a priest”.