Six Sentence Story | the Wakefield Doctrine

Six Sentence Story -the Wakefield Doctrine- [“…of Heroes and the MisUnderstood”]

May 1, 2024 By clarkscottroger

Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

This is the Doctrine’s contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.

It is hosted by Denise and has a strict Six Sentence Limit

Speaking of ‘Penny Dreadfuls’, Tom and I are writing a Serial Six Sentence Story: ‘…of Heroes and the MisUnderstood‘. (If you’re just starting, this link will provide the whole story.)

However, most previously from us (in which Rue and Moonbeam drive to Mooncross Headquarters) and, approaching the location of our Six …from Tom.

Prompt word:

LEVEL

“Damn, we’re at least an hour behind Rocco and Cyrus St. Loreto’s golem, which is not to say I don’t appreciate your helping me with my assignment to check out these Mooncross people,” looking up from her phone, the lead dancer at the Bottom of the Sea Strip Club and Lounge grabbed her companion’s wrist, interrupting his phone’s endless quest to sync to his mind.

“I never thought I’d be using the qualifying expression, ‘As the kids might say’…” Moonbeam’s smile triggered a surprising trill of pleasure as the fatigue of the previous ten hours simply vanished causing Rue DeNite to nearly stumble as she continued, “But, time to level up, dude.”

The door to Mooncross Industries’ Board Room opened to meet Rue’s out-stretched hand; at the end of a seemingly endless corridor lined with engineering suites, workstations and meeting rooms, all furnished in the contrived casual decor of a Silicon Valley Chamber of Commerce video, complete with exotic exercise equipment, arcade-style video games and refreshments.

Rue and Moonbeam stepped to the left to avoid Constantin Szarbo as he left the boardroom, which was to the everyday variety of social mishap involving people narrowly avoiding collision in a hallway as ‘a squirrel and a wood-chipper crossing paths, apologizing and continued on their way’; an impeccably dressed force of Nature, had God not yet created flaming swords, He’d have sent Constantin to evict a certain young couple overstaying their welcome in Eden.

“You, I know,” looking at Rue with what might be described as ‘clinical dispassion’ were it not for a dark smoldering in his eyes that howled of the jungle primordial, Constantin turned to Moonbeam, “You do not matter; Mr. St. Loreto has instructed me to offer to accommodate your return home, provided I am not delayed in my return, so you must…”

As the door reluctantly hissed closed behind Constantin, Rue caught a glimpse of Rocco who stood next to the girl, Isla, her hand, touching his, spoke volumes; Rocco was focused on someone or something just out of view in the shrinking trapezoid of the closing door.

“…decide now.”

Filed Under: Featured, Psychology, the Wakefield Doctrine Tagged With: Six Sentence Story, the Wakefield Doctrine

Six Sentence Story -the Wakefield Doctrine- ‘…of Heroes and the MisUnderstood’ [5.1 traP]

April 25, 2024 By clarkscottroger

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.

It is hosted by Denise and has a strict Six Sentence Limit

Speaking of ‘Penny Dreadfuls’, Tom and I are writing a Serial Six Sentence Story: ‘…of Heroes and the MisUnderstood‘. (If you’re just starting, this link will provide the whole story.)

Most previously …from Tom. and, now following our first Six this week, we continue the tale.

Now, as we’re sure you surmised from our peculiar subtitle, we up to some hijinks. Given that we’re approaching the climax of our Serial Six, we decided to switch desks! Tom is writing ‘our’ storyline, (in which Rocco is protagonist), and we’re taking over the Rue & Moonbeam narrative. For a while, at least.

Prompt Word:

TONIC

“I’m just outside the main doors, hurry the hell up, we’re on the move.”

Stepping into the cold morning air, Rue DeNite laughed at the sight of Moonbeam leaning over the empty front passenger seat of a brand new, shiny metallic green, something-or-other brand SUV; as soon as she clicked her seatbelt, he pulled away from the terminal, drove past what appeared to be a giant acorn sculpture and headed northeast.

Rue leaned against the passenger door after checking the GPS display in the dashboard; there were two starred highlights: the airport, receding along the illuminated route in the animated map and, on the destination end, ‘Tunglfjőrður’, with a label “Mooncross Industries’ at the bottom of the screen, Estimated Travel Time: 1 hour 50 minutes blinking in red.

“You’re mad at me, that’s what’s going on here,” in premeditated response to Rue’s assertion, Moonbeam furrowed his brow, as if his concentration on the nearly empty road was all that stood between their success and the fate of the world;

“While I’m impressed with that business of dark energy shooting out of your arm and being able to make people, like, suddenly fall sleep, when it comes to boosting cars and other forms of transport, of all the Supervillains I know, ‘You’re my all-time favorite‘;” Rue, pretending to admire the snow-covered mountains took hope in a slight tremor to the corner of his mouth.

“I don’t know what you mean, but since you brought it up, am I safe thinking that under all that white denim, you’re not wearing some kind of stripper-secret-weapon that, when we get cornered, you’ll start to twirl in the face of our foes?”

Taking off her jacket, Rue turned in her seat, added an unprovable arc to her spine and, with the hint of a side-to-side shoulder motion, brushed a button on her phone; Bob Seger’s voice filled the car, “They’d kill to make the cut“; laughter once again proving itself to be the best tonic.

Filed Under: Featured, Psychology, the Wakefield Doctrine Tagged With: Six Sentence Story, the Wakefield Doctrine

Six Sentence Story -the Wakefield Doctrine- ‘…of Heroes and the MisUnderstood’ [0.1 traP]

April 24, 2024 By clarkscottroger

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.

It is hosted by Denise and has a strict Six Sentence Limit

Speaking of ‘Penny Dreadfuls’, Tom and I are writing a Serial Six Sentence Story: ‘…of Heroes and the MisUnderstood‘. (If you’re just starting, this link will provide the whole story.)

However, most previously …from Tom.

Prompt word:

TONIC

“Jeez Louise, the secret-samurai architect of this terminal totally rocked the East-Meets-Nanook-the-Warrior minimalism,” Rue DeNite crossed under the glass-and-aurora borealis expanse of Keflavik International Airport’s main terminal, found the bar, ordered a tonic and tonic and headed towards the Danish modern sofa where Moonbeam was seated, the soles of her tired feet shushing over the terrazzo floor, when his jacket pocket began to make chirping sounds.

Holding up his right index finger, the Supervillain put his phone to his ear; on the basis of facial expression, the other half of the conversation would have been accurately represented had someone thought to provide cue cards with bold-ink exclamations marks, big-assed pound signs (aka hashtags) and an asterix or two; after a particularly distraught series of ‘…but you weren’t there, I had to make that call, the situation was fluid‘; Rue, now sitting close enough to rest her crossed right knee on his left thigh, took the phone from his hand.

“Hi, this is Rue DeNite; first off, loved the jet; second thing, even though we haven’t actually met, I’d appreciate you cutting my friend here a little slack.”

Smiling at Moonbeam, Rue nodded several times, paused at least twice and pantomimed writing something down, bold strokes in the air with a silent laugh towards her companion who had begun to gesture somewhat frantically;

“Don’t get me wrong, your stepping up with transportation was very kind, but I’m here because my boss asked me to and, not for nothin’, but of the three people in this conversation, only one has gone up against Cyrus St. Loreto and walked away unscathed; I’ll give you a hint: it wasn’t you.”

Curling her legs up on the couch, Rue held the phone between her right ear and some part of Moonbeam’s head and continued, “So listen lady, oh, it’s The Lady, classy, I like it; but the thing of it is, the amount of shit I allocate to your insight into the global ramifications, geopolitical repercussions and nuanced counter-moves of this little circus is in the range of negative zero;” Moonbeam’s eyes acquired the wild look of a horse at the approach of a glowing-hot branding iron, “So, what say we end our little chat with an American idiom you might be familiar with, ‘Fuck you’.”

Turning to her companion with a look of surprised innocence, Rue laughed, “What?”

Filed Under: Featured, Psychology, the Wakefield Doctrine Tagged With: clarkscottroger, Six Sentence Story, the Wakefield Doctrine

Six Sentence Story -the Wakefield Doctrine- ‘…Of Heroes and the MisUnderstood.’ [Part 0.666]

April 18, 2024 By clarkscottroger

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.

Denise is the host

Tom and I are writing a Serial Six Sentence Story: ‘…of Heroes and the MisUnderstood‘. (If you’re just starting, this link will provide the whole story.)

The prompt word is:

PRESENT

Standing at the towering wall of glass that looked out over the Miami business district, Cyrus St. Loreto felt at home; as insufficient a designator that phrase might be, given his unnaturally-long life.

A metaphor from Shakespeare came to mind, accompanied by a private smile as the sun conspired with the waves of the Atlantic to sneak up on the businessman: ‘The world was his oyster’. Rumors to the effect that he did some ‘reputation management’ work for the playwright was the stuff of corporate legend and rejected PhD dissertations. Given a certain span between ‘then’ and ‘the present’, the transient character of good and evil, endemic in the society of man since expulsion from a certain Garden, always transforms from liability to something more akin to power.

The business of the Bernebau Company and Cyrus’s personal interests were inseparable and as witness, carved into one of the columns in the first floor lobby:

“Fura ceea ce se poate, cumpara ceea ce trebuie atunci repossess rămâne.” *

In no small measure an indication of his reputation, there was nary a comment, Romanian or otherwise. in any business publications on the meaning of the inscription; at the moment, which is the only place Cyrus St. Loreto operated from, the affair in Iceland demanded his special talents.

*’Steal what you can, buy what you must, repossess what remains.’

Filed Under: Featured, Psychology, the Wakefield Doctrine Tagged With: Six Sentence Story, the Wakefield Doctrine

Six Sentence Story -the Wakefield Doctrine- ‘…Of Heroes and the MisUnderstood,’ [Part 0.888]

April 17, 2024 By clarkscottroger

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.

Denise is the host and reminds us to allow only six sentences to tell (our) tales.

Tom and I are writing a Serial Six Sentence Story: ‘…of Heroes and the MisUnderstood‘. (If you’re just starting, this link will provide the whole story.)

Most previously in our tale: this from us and this from Tom.

The prompt word is:

PRESENT

“No, I don’t care if the Miller Analogies are in twenty minutes…”

In the delightfully subversive ways of the unconscious mind, my desire to remain asleep incorporated a persistent shoulder shaking as part of my dream… something to the effect of having to get up out of bed and a girl who was slapping the palm of her hand with a ruler; Waking World: Zero / Enjoyable Dreams: One.

Like they say, from the moment you believe you can figure out how the stage magician achieves his illusion, you’ve surrendered the joy of pretending in exchange for the dubious power of maturity; it takes most of us getting to the far end of life, if we’re lucky, to again appreciate youth.

Cyrus St. Loreto’s private plane did nothing to betray either our velocity or location, which for anyone keeping score was: a skosh under the speed of sound and on final approach to Iceland’s Keflavik Airport; in the spirit of the dichotomy of life, despite the engineering to maintain the bliss of not knowing, there was a display over the cockpit door spelling out present position and speed.

Isla was lying on her left side, an inhale and a venial sin next to me, our adjacent seats reclined as one; seeing my eyes open, she lifted the blanket covering us enough for me to see my phone leaning against her left leg… it was live and the caller ID showed: Rue.

Given the rapid development of our relationship, I felt comfortable enough to move my right hand down to hunt ‘n peck a text message; I think Isla was hoping it might involve the use of excessive emojis.

As always Rue had taken the initiative, her text: ‘Are you alright?’