Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)
the setting: the Unicorn Challenge bloghop
the players: jenne and ceayr and a cast of tens
the premise: beginning with a new photo prompt, write a story
the rules: maximum word count is two hundred fity (250)
(While we accept that this particular bloghop format does not, actually, encourage the telling of serial tales, there are times when the temptation exceeds self-restraint. If there is need for proof of the existence of a ‘Muse’ for those who would write, then characters are incontrovertible evidence. We have, all of us, found ourselves in the company of characters that, to use the vernacular, ‘write themselves’. This week, we indulge our selfs. The two protangonists in this week’s contribution to ‘the corn first showed up: <click here>. What can we say? They write themselves)
“Don’t worry, I’m a natural-born trapper. I can follow the prey anywhere!”
The woman, dressed in shades of gray and ebony that made her indistinguishable from the alleys and lanes of the less-travelled parts of Glasgow, jumped slightly, the better to cuff her companion’s ear.
“We had ’em coming out of that wine cellar! Are we home enjoying dinner?” The tilt of her head produced a curious reversal, surely it is in human relationships that trompe l’oeil found their natural environment.
“No! We are not!”
For his part, the slightest of shrugs prevented any serious injury, which was never a concern of his for any of the countless years the pair had been together.
The urban canyons and abandoned wine cellars had provided sustenance for the two since…well, since either of them could remember. Somehow, the night was betraying the two as their prey continued to remain ahead of their patient stalking. This unexplored country for the pair who, as subjects of whispered tales of fearful parents to innocent children were simply the Crone and the Stone. Cautionary bedtime stories to keep them out of harm’s way
As they crossed the small wooden bridge, the forest around them blazed in artificial light. LED suns tethered to trees, the better to kill fairy tale monsters
The man, larger than he wanted to be, looked down; the woman, smaller than she felt with him, looked up with no regret,
“We twa hae run about the braes,
and pou’d the gowans fine.”