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. Regulated by the Department of Sentenae Limitation, Ordinal Section.
(Full Disclosure: Last week Nancy did yeoman’s work including multiple prompt wordage in her Six. It is a chromosomal imperative for those of us hailing from Y Chromia to say, “Oh yeah? Dig this!” We are counting on her more developed sense of decorum and maturity to take our Six as a compliment.)
Prompt Word:
LIFT
With my car at the dealer’s for routine maintenance, I considered trying Lyfte to get to the office. The offer of a loaner was tempting, but they knew me too well, and while driving a brand new A7 would give my spirits a certain lift, my current accounts receivables were not exactly smiling and inviting me to buy it a drink.
I stepped into the lobby of my building in time to see the shiny-brass accordion inner-door of the old fashion lift expand into it’s closed position, followed immediately by the two embossed metal doors closing with the certainty of a nun tucking a stray fire-red lock beneath her wimple.
I glanced at the staircase at the end of the hall, felt an unaccountable lift in my spirits and found myself sprinting up the first flight of worn-marble steps.
Laughing, (egged-on by the inner six-year-old who, despite our becoming our own jailor, never submits to the demands of the world to grow up and accept freedom as a hardened-adult), I ran up the stairs to the cadence of leather soles on marble, lifting each foot was less about exercise and more about control.
Like a tyro shoplifter exiting the local five and dime, I closed my eyes as I ran, trusting my recidivist inner-child to save my current and mature self from stumbling.