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… and (courtsey of Frank) between then and now…
Prompt word:
NOD
“So, would you care to tell me how you ended up in a secret workshop in Room 215 here in the Six Sentence Café & Bistro…”
{HEY, CAN’T YOU SEE I’M WORKING HERE?}
The tall, thin man laughed, walked past the automaton, (that was, at the moment, wearing a turban), in the vestibule of the SSC&B, took the sign propped up on the top of the cigarette machine and, with a black magic marker wrote, in large block letters: CLOSED FOR INTERROGATION; appropriating a display stand of color glossy real estate booklets, he then placed his hand-made sign in the wire rack, stepped back a pace, (‘Pardon me’), looked at his work and smiled.
{YOU CAN’T DO THAT, I PROMISED FRANK I WOULD STAY UNTIL MIMI RETURNED…}
“I need to know you…or, failing that, your backstory, given how you’ve become something of a regular here. And before you write on your little silent movie cards: “What’s to know, I’m a four foot automaton capable of independent action, endearing myself to a group of exceptional people with vast resources“… I need to know what happened back in Victorian London and, here’s a shocker, what became of your creator.”
{NOTHING HAPPENED… IT WAS AN ACCIDENT… I TRIED TO REPAIR… AWW JEEZ I DIDN’T MEAN IT}
The Proprietor stared at the automaton, his expression of a managerial interest being replaced in his eyes by a dark sun rising as the implications of the intertitle card took root and grew; sympathy, the red-headed stepchild of charity held reign, even as he became aware of a sub-sonic keening.
{MY SENTENCE IS TO LIVE ON, AN OUTCAST IN A 21ST CENTURY LAND OF NOD; WITH A SAVOY LANE-TAILORED YAHWEH}
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About clarkscottroger
It sounds like the automaton has a lot of explaining to do. What became of its creator?
alas… (even the ttm is beginning to feel bad for our four foot friend)… but at least he’s got Mimi on his side and I totally know you have his back… I suspect there is more to (his) creator’s death than meets the eye at the moment…
I suspect that things are getting interesting for the automaton…
…and the Reader too!*
*at least, hopefully ;p
Hopefully!
Oh my goodness, this is more than weird (in a good sense). Plus that Savoy Lane place… I have been there many moons ago… I went to the theatre and fab it was!
it would appear the tall, thin man has a certain refined taste in clothing
Hmm. Ominous. Maybe the automation sent the creator into the future or the past or another dimension… Without a way back? I won’t assume the worst… Hmm…
I don’t think he did anything to cause his creator’s demise, I think his creator was counting on him to prevent it, and in the end he could not.
I’m of like mind… so the question remains who did cause both tragedies?
Tell us more about the Land of Nod.
A children’s story about three little fishermen—Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.
(adding to your Reply to Reena) in my use of the phrase ‘The Land of Nod’… I was keying off the Bible Genesis 4:16: ‘in the Land of Nod, east of Eden‘
Which of course is (both our use of one of a number of ‘definitions/interpretations’ of a particular cultural artifact is the inherent quality of the (metaphor) of the Six Sentence Café & Bistro… mix and remix of ideas and influences
I used the ‘definition’ from the Bible… the famous ‘East of Eden’ reference (which I appended to Misky’s citing a famous children’s story).
for my purposes, the Biblical context fits in with the implication (from the Automaton’s next-to-last titlecard statement) that he had some degree of involvement in the death of his creator. Not the full-on guilt of Cain in Abel’s death* but unfortunately, the supposition of guilt can be more powerful than the fact of guilt
Genesis 4:16
Well, the wee little one has attitude, I’ll give him that. Loved this one.
It was an accident? Maybe, maybe not.
To sleep, perchance to dream. Ay, there’s the rub…
well cited