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, there is but one rule. It relates to the number of sentences in a story. Can you guess the rule?
Prompt word:
DREAM
“Sure, but it was just such a vivid dream that I nagged my therapist, that surely there was something I could take to keep me, I don’t know, un-inclined to dream of her?”
Mid-day at the Six Sentence Café & Bistro can present a level of quiet that encourages the most untrusting to confide the deepest of secrets as the young woman in the ageless fashion continued, “Well, no, not all dreams; any freshman psych major knows that sleep deprivation will fuck you all up and, not dreaming at all is a close second.”
The ice-maker made a sound like an apologetic cough, as if to assure all that it had no intention to eavesdrop, but, for the record, approved of the young woman’s rationale.
“I know that it sounds, well, either immature or crazy, not that I cared, but I didn’t want to lose her and if I didn’t have the dream then I’ve truly lost her;” Rosetta Storme reached for the Hermes handbag she’d put on the bar, unconscious ransom for the audience she’d been granted, “Clearly I’m willing to live as an emotional cripple so I guess this disqualifies me for whatever job Lou thought you might have for me?”
The woman seated at the end of the long bar nearest a hallway that seemed to grow darker when one focused on it, smiled; less a ‘Mona Lisa smile’ and more, (though not as celebrated by the Renaissance masters), one would imagine forming on Mary Magdalene’s face, the better to make the silent wisdom in her eyes more accessible; “Cher, you’re the only kind of person we want.”
Like a giant clam conducting a symphony orchestra, Tom stood between the swinging doors of the Café’s kitchen and announced in a voice one-third laughter and one-half celebration, “Did I hear someone say BLTs!!?”
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