Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)
This is the Doctrine’s contribution to the Unicorn Challenge.
Hosted by jenne and ceayr, it is a photo-prompt writing challenge with but one rule: no more that 250 words allowed.
(Hey! This is an installment from an ongoing story involving two characters, ‘The Stone and the. Crone’. Here are all stories up to today. (Shoutout to jenne and ceayr for…well, you know)
“That one.”
“The bespeckled dweeb sitting by hisself reading his laptop like he was Ernest I’m-such-a-Man Hemingsworth?”
“Hemingway.”
The hulking man, burlap blanket anchored on one end by the expanse of his shoulders and the other to a row of brownish-green dumpsters lining the alleyway, looked down at the woman with amused tolerance. In the midday-dusk of their hideaway, she glared a smile; impatience mixed with affection, an emotional amalgam indistinguishable by any but a poet or a priest.
Their true names, a bastardization of Pict symbols and Hibernian warding spells were unpronounceable. Generations of children, educated to the dangers of strangers, however, had their own names, ‘The Stone and the Crone.”
Scouting a daytime hunting ground, the pair hid, awaiting for the Sun to abdicate its role of Protector of life, rushing westward in a futile effort to keep death at bay.
The simple fact of their longevity as predators in a modern world was proof that it was not their nature that changed, just their tactics. They were, despite their diet, a couple with a certain charm; one small, seemingly frail woman of indeterminant age and limitless hunger and the other, well, like the old saying reminds us, ‘There is no lightning without thunder.”
In their makeshift den of dumpsters and blankets, the Stone whispered, in low tones familiar to spelunkers and retired miners, “Say what you will about the 21st Century, our prey, to a large extent have become well-read, over-weight and conveniently slow on their feet.”
*
