Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)
This is the Six Sentence Story.
Denise is the hostinae.
The procedure is quite simple.
Visit her site to: a) link your story-that-has-no-more-nor-no-less-than-six-sentences and 2) read all the other Sixes…
The coolest thing ’bout this ‘hop is the variety. Paul is the master of ‘lean prose’. Simple as a tuxedo and impossible not to be drawn in… Mimi’s ‘voice’ is so comfortable and inviting that you look around for an easy chair and a footstool (if there are such things anymore)…. Reena combines modern settings and situations with a moral that will have you thinking it over for the rest of the day….Pat…well, Pat’s Sixes make you certain that, if you’re ever kidnapped and stuck in a time machine headed back to the 20th, you know you’ll be alright. Marti (who’s been totally making her mark on the Six Sentence Story) weaves short little tales that leave you wondering, ‘Now, how the heck did she do that!’ and our host. Denise… you know how when you got your first Crayola box with 16 crayons and knew you could finally express yourself…. well, when it comes to subtle expression, Denise has clearly got her self a 64 crayon box (complete with sharpener)…. and Val.
…kinda left her for last….’cause, if you’re reading this intro then stop: go read her Six first. Then come back. (Val and I did a ‘multi-POV’ Six Sentence Story a few weeks ago and her take on my Six was so …synergistic that I asked her if she would might do another, only ‘writing lead’. Fortunately for us she said ‘Sure’. (The previous Six-pair is here and it includes the link to Val’s half.)
The prompt word:
MANNER
“Какво правиш?! Заданието е,” the man over-flowing the passenger seat of the late-model Mercedes saw the driver’s expression, stopped and with the exaggerated enunciation of a sixth grade French student, continued, “…follow the detective fellow to the girl with the information, not chase, down the street …some ….стриптизьорка,” his frustration played out in the flickering illumination of the city streetlights as they followed the next-to-the-last-car parked behind a downtown strip club.
“This is my op and you will speak English,” as casually as brushing lint from a friends collar, the blonde behind the wheel touched the man’s thickly muscled shoulders with two fingers and her thumb; his tattooed hand flew to his throat like a startled bird, his expression quickly changed from ‘surprised’ to ‘frightened’ at the sudden and complete paralysis of his respiratory system.
The traffic light turned green, she released her hold and pointed to the tablet that balanced on the cars’ console, it’s small dot blinking red on the map display, “I not only have a copy of the detective’s hard drive, I dusted his cash with antimony-123, two nights ago,” the gasps of the man softened the planes of her face, ironically by the up-turning of her thin lips and corners of her dark eyes. Irina Schadenfreude’s smile inverted as she recalled her nearly-perfect break-in; as the thumb drive blinked green indicating copy-complete, she noticed a large glass jar on the detective’s desk filled with small denomination bills, mostly ones and fives, on it a label: “Bottom of the Sea College Fund’.
“This is my op and you will behave in the manner I tell you,” she let the car coast to a stop as they watched a young woman with a red handbag get out of a blue sedan and enter one of the two and three family homes that lined the street; a minute later they saw a light go on in the third floor bay window.
Alone in the red glow of the emergency exit lights of the Bottom of the Sea Lounge, Lou Ceasare took from his pocket one of three phones he always carried, “Alright, don’t do nothin, just watch…don’t know who the hell they are, but it looks like I gotta personally inform them that no one messes with my dancers.”
(music)
