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. defined by a single number: 6 (the exact number of sentences in qualified stories)
Prompt Word:
POOL
“Anyone here?”
A languid slapping of liquid against an unyielding object combined with shimmering reflections on the half-round ceiling did nothing to improve my mood; my admin’s insistence I treat the text requesting a meeting in an out-of-service rail tunnel as spam and a waste of time somehow sparked an argument, maybe the third in the five years Hazel has worked for me.
“I’m here per your text and, I might add, not in the mood to fuck around;”
hearing my vulgarity hang in the darkness triggered a flashback to the fourth grade at Our Lady of Mercy parochial school, my humorless laugh, an atavistic response to the nearing of the uncanny did nothing to offset the chill raising the hair on the back of my neck.
My cell phone pinged ‘Text Messages’, even as my resolve began to pool around my feet; it’s been my experience that genuine fear doesn’t walk up and shout ‘Boo’, rather, it seeps into the body and a weakness of the leg muscles are it’s only tell.
Looking down into the display, I scrolled through the messages: “Are you coming in today, H’ …” “OK you’re a great boss, but two days without a word…” and, “Now you’re scaring me, no one has seen you for three days, the cops are useless, I’m going down to the sleazy bar of yours, maybe they know what’s going on”.
I decided that my admin deserved a raise and I would turn and walk back the way I came, halfway there I heard a voice coming from farther to my left than the diameter of the tunnel should permit, “We need to talk.”
