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Six Sentence Story -the Wakefield Doctrine- [a Café Six] This is the Café. Part 1

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, there is one rule: Six (no more, no less) Sentenceses to the story

Previously, in our story…

Prompt word:

CLOUD

“Come with me,” the tall, thin man turned away from the newest employee of the Six Sentence Café & Bistro and, without another word, began walking towards the entrance; frozen in place, Rosetta, quite uncharacteristically, decided not to let her life be nothing more than a temporary ceasefire between good and evil and spike-heel skipped into a quick walk.

Losing sight of the Proprietor, Rosetta became angry and, like a cartoon character with an animated-black cloud (complete with yellow-jagged lightning bolts) over her head, pulled open the oak-and-hammered-brass-nail door and walked up the three granite steps to the sidewalk.

“Good girl,” the tall, thin man cigarette smoke-signaling his compliment, stood in the middle of the empty street.

“Tell me what you see,” the man did something with his body language that, somehow, resulted in her joining him in road.

“A wino, two hookers and capitalism’s insatiable appetite for the soul of the working class?”

The tall, thin man laughed; Rosetta Storme blushed at the sidewalk and let a smile appear.

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Friday -the Wakefield Doctrine- (a Unicorn Challenge offering)

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’.

 

“Toe may toe…”

“Toe mah toe!”

Laughter fractal’d from the two. Held by the gossamer scaffolding of their respective imaginations, both made good on their, (ok, our), offer to the Reader for a pleasant, momentary diversion.

(Contrary to the stern admonitions, embedded like the walnut chunks in a German chocolate cake, of countless books on rhetoric, there are times when a Narrator may be considered reliable.)

‘You’re more …refined sounding than you look.”

“…and you’re even more attractive, the up-lilt of your accent, no, don’t tell me! I was so young when last I encountered it.”

(The parentheticals too off-putting? Sorry. What? No, a good Narrator is but a guide, neither the journey nor the souvenirs.)

“While your voice is as familiar as sleeping breath, discarding one sense surely advantages the others… tell me more.”

“Your true strength is revealed by your voice, where a dark-smudge of a person was, sound replaces light.”

(Surely you’ve guessed. These two have appeared, however fictionally, in a number of our stories.)

“Indeed, sight is not the primary…

“Or primal

Laughter, like a good dinner guest, contributes sparingly to the event, enhancing a dish, not replacing it. The two, [as Narrator, reliable or otherwise, we pray you not regard us as elements in our tale], continued their exploration of their respective love.

“Since we are, for the moment, citizens of the aural realm, names are the most appropriate gifts we might exchange, do you agree?”

“I do. Mr. Stone.”

 

 

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Six Sentence Story -the Wakefield Doctrine- [an Ian Devereaux Six]

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

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

Hosted by Denise, subject to the Rule of Six.

Previously, in our SSC&B story...

Prompt Word:

ENTRY

“Want a Xanax?”

I kept my eyes on the dashboard, my feet on the floor mats and my head in the reassuring embrace of a 35 mph wind coming in from the front passenger-side window; my mind, well like the owner of an excitable puppy bouncing off the entry gate of a safely-fenced dog park, I unclipped the leash and let him run.

“What? I believe in a well-stocked medicine cabinet and my business partner is a major underworld crime boss, I could take you to the hospital but all they’ll do there is pump you full of sedatives, put you in a room that’s nothing but soft, well-rounded corners and have a social worker talk to you like a child; or you can close your eyes and pretend you’re a college sophomore.”

I took a chance and turned in my seat to look at Diane Tierney, being extra careful to focus on her face and avoid the motion-blurred scenery that was, unfortunately, for my present mental state, an essential element in automobile travel; damn I was high.

Her face was as beautiful as always, framed in brown hair that always managed to be an essential element in her communication style; a turn of her head was accompanied by a slow wave of hair from one side to the other, every bit the placing of a hand on the forearm of the person you’re trying to persuade; her lips, as delicately sculpted as if daring the world to ignore the sensuality they outlined, her eyes… her eyes were brown most of the time, slightly-hooded and was the essential point-of-entry for anyone with a heartbeat, a life-force and a desire to become, if only for a moment, immortal.

Did I mention how high I still was?

 

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Six Sentence Story -the Wakefield Doctrine- [a Café Six]

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

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

Hosted by Denise, subject to the Rule of Six.

Previously, in our Six Sentence Serial...

Prompt Word:

ENTRY

“Listen, while I appreciate a tête-à-tête with a fellow pillar of the community, I do have a business to run… illicit substances don’t grow on trees, judges ain’t gonna corrupt themselves and I got too many cops on payroll that need constant supervision,” Lou stood with the silent grace of a shark in an evening-shaded coral reef.

“Anytime, Lou,” the tall, thin man stood with a formality that spoke volumes even as the third person re-established her presence;

“Wait a minute…” Rosetta Storme took out her phone and with a Gen X pirouette tried for a selfie while, in the way of her generation, launching into a complaint about some aspect of her life, most likely her being an employee of the Café.

The owner of the Bottom of the Sea Strip Club and Lounge paused, not yet beyond the circle of light that illuminated the table, “Godamn, that’s right, there isn’t a boarding school in New or Old fricken England that’ll accept you and me, fresh out of severed race horse heads…”

Looking back to the young woman, “of course, you could come to work for me at the Bottom of the Sea; it’d be entry level management position, my hostess and business partner might be open to…” a smile of a problem well-solved began to fissure the club owners face.

“What, are you fuckin’ high, me work for that old…”  a conductor’s baton, raised high on Opening Night before a SRO crowd had nothing on Lou Caesare’s elevated eyebrow, as he continued,

“Diane could teach you more about business management in a single week than two years listening to an Ivory League professor lecturing on the subtle intricacies of monetary policy and maximizing inherent labor resistance.”

“If I may, Lou,” the Proprietor smiled like an experienced lion tamer entering the cage, “You are welcome to continue on here, Rosetta….”

“Oh, great, this is where you go all sitcom on me, how I’ve become a part of the family and everyone likes me.”

“Well, no, ” a cough of laughter stowed aboard a cloud of cigar smoke from the opposite side of the table, “They don’t, but the thing is I promised Lou that as an employee, I’d keep you safe from them; so if you choose to continue on here I should mention we’re having a special celebration event for all employees and their friends and family, April’s Fool on the Third and you will be on duty.

 

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Friday(ish) -the Wakefield Doctrine-

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

This is the Doctrine’s contribution to the Unicorn Challenge.

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’.

 

 

A cat.”

Say What Now?

Being the First Week, there was no shortage of new things. Think: in the realm of the objective, stones to stub naked toes on, in the shadowy kingdom of the subjective, ‘tone of voice’.

You said I should name all the animals and fowls and everything in the world.”

The First Man, staring at the feline, did something with his lips, all the while glancing at the Creator from the corner of his eyes. Bible scholars, in the interest of conciseness captioned Genesis 2:19 ‘…naming all the animals’; eschewing the more comprehensive ‘…and invents pouting’.

“Fine. I Did.”

A smile, crawling back on Adam’s face, froze as the One spoke,

But, What’s With The ‘tude?

The naked man’s eyebrows decided to wrestle and the first scowl was born.

That’s on You. It’s not my fault it thinks it’s the height of Creation.”

Light Flared Non-Directionally.

It’s not. Is it? You said…”

The First Laugh of the Privileged rolled across the Garden, all creatures instinctively froze or sought shelter.

No. You’re Still The Pinnacle of Creation.

Adam, relaxing only slightly, continued,

OK, about that thing I asked? You know a companion, someone that would keep me from getting bored?

I Knew You Wouldn’t Give Up On That.

A new emotion, barely noticeable, the amusement at the interaction of Man and Banana peel

Gimme Some Of That Clay.

TA DAH!

Adam? Meet Lilith. Lilith… Adam. Give us a smile, Lil.

 

 

 

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