the Wakefield Doctrine

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: the story (inspired by the week’s prompt word) must be six sentences in length.

So, last week Mimi wrote this excellent Café Six. We were, at the time, way behind on (our) reading and did not feel we could do justice to a walk-on Six*. So here we are, a week later.

Prompt word:

HERMIT

“Hey, I was thinking…” the tall, thin man stopped both his forward physical motion and, with it, his prepared speech denying that the amount of time alone in the Manager’s Office made him a de facto, hermit; the tableau that threw a big Cease and Desist on his entrance was comprised of Hūnga wagging his tail at Nick who, standing next to Mimi, reflected the dog’s unconditional love like a Maybelline saleswoman trapped in a traveling carnival’s house of mirrors; something in the scene in front of the bar of the Six Sentence Café & Bistro triggered a long-repressed memory (genuine or false) of a novitiate nun telling a handful of sixth graders in detention a fairly subversive version of the Story of Genesis.

The First Woman was nearly out of the Garden when she spotted an unfamiliar four-legged creature crouching under a bush with an expression of serene patience in his eyes; over her left shoulder, in the opposite direction, a tangle of conversation, “You’re better off with her…” and “I know, but why’d You have to create her like that, You said I’d have dominion over everything,” followed by a harumph of frustration trigging additional, non-specific vocalizations that, much later in the development of culture and language would be synonymous with ‘Wounded Pride’ and Whiny little boy’.

Stopping, Lilith spoke to the animal that looked up at her from his place along the Path,”I can’t stay too long, those two jamokes are likely to notice that my leaving the Garden makes it a two man club and that won’t end well… the Gate to the East is just up ahead, I’d be happy for the company if you want to walk with me;” the creature shook itself from nose to tail, rose with a muscular grace and, after pacing her for a few steps, began to bound ahead, running in wide arcs around her, clearly for the simple joy of motion.

Finally, where the tall grass ended and a dark passage began, the animal stood, waiting for the Woman to catch up; pink tongue hanging out in it’s version of laughter, while on the other end of his body, a tail swept back-and-forth in the grass in a crystal clear, albeit, non-verbal celebration; Adam’s first wife crouched down, and looking into eyes that whispered of the Divine said, “As much as I’d love to have your company, would you help… not me, but those who will follow,” ears folded back patiently, the animal waited.

“I know He’ll never give up on His experiment, but you are what Mankind could be, rather than what we think we should be; so let’s play a joke on our Creator; seeing how my former Husband did not officially name you, I shall, while ‘God’ is already taken, by the Power vested in me, you shall be known as… Dog!”

The dog turned and sat on its haunches facing back along the Garden Path and waited for the first conscripts of a doomed army of Men and Women marching towards a battlefield they could not imagine; wagging his tail as farewell to Lilith, the first Dog waited with neither reservation nor regret for it’s chance to lead a new race back home.

* a walk-on in the context of Six Sentence Story(s) is when a character (from another writer/another story-reality) takes part in a scene. In this case, fairly closely related, the Six Sentence Café & Bistro being a familiar metaphorical world and the character, Mimi, the Gatekeeper and the tall, thin man are regulars in that particular virtual world.

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: the story (inspired by the week’s prompt word) must be six sentences in length.

Prompt word:

FREQUENCY

“You’re a’scairt, that’s all you are.”

“No I ain’t!”

The two boys moved through the brush like grooms through layers of diaphanous veils and curtains securing their respective wedding nights; one slid careful hands, fingers soft pry-bars, and parted each leaf-clad branch in his path, the other, slightly older boy less taken by the beauty of flourishing wild cherry bushes equally the sting of green briars lying in wait.

The lakeshore clearing was an incidental rise of the earth; a root-knotted and ivy-greened path leading generations of neighborhood children to a betrothal chamber far from the protective (and jealous) eyes of parents and other adults; the term rite of passage is the kind of description conjured by one who has forgotten childhood, ‘the Swing’ was all anyone, of a certain age needed.

The water was dark and quiet, a flawed mirror as the sun sketched details at the whim of passing clouds, the tree, at the top of the rise, was everything the earth might be, were it possessed of a desire to experience flight and the rope hung straight, a make-shift pendulum measuring the passage of Summer.

The swing’s arc, invisible in stillness, was the ritual; the rope ,the sacrament and the frequency of its celebration measured in seasons and generations;

“Then you go first.” the boy grabbed wrist-thick rope; closing his eyes as a last defiant act in the face of fear, he ran until the earth set him free.

*

*

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: the story (inspired by the week’s prompt word) must be six sentences in length.

Prompt word:

MOVE

“You start to cry and I swear, I’ll tell everyone, you’ll never hear the end of it,” the voice, originating from nowhere and everywhere in the nearly dark room was, in terms of emotional subtext, jars of finger paint to a five-year-old at the end of the first day of kindergarten; too much energy and nowhere near enough paper.

“Hey, I’m alright, it was just the shock of the change; not everyone has your… ” the pause was neither simple nor clean, leaving as it did, a glottal breadcrumb of sufficient size to allow a reasonable person to hear ‘guilt’ or ‘gullibility’, “capacity to accommodate a fundamental change in reality.”

The accusation, a knee-jerk attempt to change the focus of the conversation, amounted to nothing less than preemptive foreplay; the Hail Mary pass in the final seconds of a game with an unlit scoreboard; the best defense is always a counter-punch.

“I told you this was a big step; I said, sure everyone does it but it’s not for the faint of heart, and you did real fine.”

“I did, didn’t I?”

The world reshaped itself, as it must, but not without a subtle yet enduring alteration of one of the two young people; and, in doing so, reinforced the most human of truisms: to move along the path of personal growth and development, the first step is let oneself fall.

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: the story (inspired by the week’s prompt word) must be six sentences in length.

(the subtitle reference is to a character in a serial Six ‘The Order of Lilith‘. Brother Abbott was in charge of the day-to-day operation of the London branch of the Order in Victorian London.)

Prompt word:

FAINT

“Forgive my confusion,” Brother Abbott smiled, despite an abundant beard and unabashedly assertive brows, a steely glint in his eyes gave lie to his words, “I am a man of the cloth and study the life of the spirit, I know nothing about furniture.”

The parlor of the Godwin’s London home was dark and sparsely furnished, testimony to the need to maintain social position; the inadequate number of gas lighting fixtures allowed a passerby to be impressed and the owners to feel secure.

“My former business partners assured me that you are as knowledgeable in matters of the spirit world as you are discrete,” Wallace Goodwin stood next to his wife Iris and did his best to sound confident which was her cue to become actively involved in the conversation;

“This chaise was delivered a fortnight ago,” nodding at the new green couch, oddly placed in the middle of the room, she relaxed slightly as her large guest in the brown sackcloth robe focused on the item in question, and continued, “I have not been able to sit, relax or otherwise use my very expensive couch since it arrived.”

Without waiting for the obvious question, the former Iris Montgomery, stepped to the green tufted seat, turned and sat… on the floor.

The mute alert of an eyebrow the only sign of concern on Brother Abbott’s face, “That’s curious, the couch moved itself out of the way before you could sit.”

Kneeling in front of carved wood scrolling running between the feet of the chaise he pulled a cloth tag free and standing, turned to his hosts, “Here is your problem… perhaps a misreading of your original purchase order, but this label clearly identifies this as a feinting couch, not a fainting….”

*

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; Sextuplet Division.

Prompt Word:

ENGAGEMENT

“Hey, teach, nice to meetcha,”

Lou Caesare is many things; a complete list would necessarily involve contact with a variety of law enforcement organizations and, if a totally comprehensive measure of the man was the goal, employing a medium wouldn’t hurt as some biographical resources were, ‘at-a-distance’; but for all of his societal-shortcomings, being a poor host was not one.

I pride myself on my sense of people when, early the previous week I said, ‘Sure, it’ll be fun,” in response to Leanne’s suggestion that we have dinner at the Bottom of the Sea Strip Club and Lounge.

Chair of the Department of Advanced Anthropology and Cultural Semiotics, friend, former client, sometime lover, Leanne had driven down from Radcliffe to lead a symposium at Brown University; Dr. Leanne Thunberg, ever the considerate houseguest for the weekend insisted on having dinner at my favorite ‘restaurant’ and ‘meeting my friends and dancers and mobsters’; what could I say other than, “Of course!”

“Tell me one thing about Devereux that you know he doesn’t and one thing I do,” Lou offered his Great White grin, an elevation of his shoulders and the slightest of nods, all from his side of the last booth on the right; the gestalt was as direct and formal as a bow over a ladies hand in a Victorian parlor.

Returning his smile, Leanne did something with her voice and eyebrows that put ivy on the walls of the Lounge side and caused the bump ‘n grind music from the strip club to acquire a baroque lilt,

“The woman is always right and hearing someone begin a sentence with, ‘Rules of Engagement’, tells you who’s the first to cheat and on top of that, a fuckin’ hilarious oxymoron.”

Lou Caesare laughed with characteristic lack of restraint that made a person want to be funny, it was full-bodied and totally disarming;

“Hey Devereaux, first of all, you’re clearly playing way, way out of your league with your lady-friend here and second, you better pray I don’t take it to mind to open a branch Bottom of the Sea up Cambridge way,” Leanne and Lou lead the ensuing laughter.