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, constrained by a sentence limit (high and low) of six, there are worse ways to spend the remaining time you have on earth.

Previously. in our tale…

Prompt word:

CHARGE

“For Barrie’s sake, not another Creature from god’s nose where?”

The tall, thin man turned from the dumbwaiter, drawn by the sight of a diminutive female figure kaleidoscoping shards of light off a shelf holding a collection of steampunk clockworks, two cellphone chargers and, for some reason, a time-worn Bible even as la Raconteuse glowed with delight; a smile lead the charge on the Manager’s frown but was interrupted by the small automaton holding a card:

[But the Door…someone is still knocking! ]

The dumbwaiter, with what could only be described as child-like impatience, raised one foot, put it down abruptly then the other; the tall, thin man turned to la Raconteuse, his words inoculated by a smile, “I take from your expression I don’t have to go looking for a can of RAID?”

Somehow conveying aggravated impatience with a sound of mechanical rustling, the card was replaced with:

[Fine, be rude, I’ll get it]

“I must say, Miz R, you have a gift for discovering the curious among the mundane,” even as the Proprietor stepped towards his companion, the small automaton reached the door. It’s right hand briefly disappeared into it’s waistcoat now held up a new intertitle card, opened the door; the man standing in the doorway stared then smiled as he read:

[Thank you, but while I cannot be Saved, the two people behind me, well good luck!]

*

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, constrained by a sentence limit (high and low) of six, there are worse ways to spend the remaining time you have on earth.

Previously, in our tale…

Prompt word:

CHARGE

“Welcome to the Signature Room…

  Fuck you…I beg your pardon?…Yeah, well it’s not like
you and your Order are totally without sin….Faith ‘an begorra
can we have a little civility for one evening’s meal…Alright enough bicker
ing and who invited Darby O’Gill…do what you want…I’m here
for the Mechanism…yeah, I’ll just bet you are….
guilty as charged is that who I think it is?
Damn, way more in person…

Anya Clarieaux is a person of remarkable eccentricities, blinding intelligence and near-limitless Will. While any two of these qualities would guarantee the average man or woman success in most endeavors, she was possessed of all three and was not encumbered by the slightest concern for conforming social standards. It is our collective good fortune the current Executive Administrative Assistant of the Omni Corporation cultivated humility to a degree that would make Mother Theresa come across like Kid Rock; she abhorred publicity and was passionate about accruing power.

“Everyone, please stop talking.”

 

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, constrained by a sentence limit (high and low) of six, there are worse ways to spend the remaining time you have on earth.

Previously. in our current tale…

Prompt word:

DUST

The susurrus of air conditioning ducting common to renovated mill buildings, factories and condemned schools, along with the damp-whoosh of distant plumbing, provided a slightly cyber-punk vibe to the room. The two verifiably-human people in Room 215 paused to assess their feelings towards the occupant of a hidden closet only just revealed. When reasonably mature, if not rather sophisticated, people discover a four-foot bellhop in a hundred-years-abandoned room, they can be forgiven for feeling nonplussed. That this being’s sole manner of communication consists of holding up what appear to be silent movie inter-title cards, well it’s kind of a lot to process.

The tall, thin man smiled a knife-edged smile as the seconds threatened to metastasize into an awkward, if not, threatening stillness;  la Raconteuse was, quite characteristically, already in motion.

There was a knock at the door; a decisive rapping, in no way like softly-seductive sounds of the darkness that roamed the dusty and half-dark hall outside the room, this, in its tone and tenor, was decidedly more…urgent.

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, constrained by a sentence limit (high and low) of six, there are worse ways to spend the remaining time you have on earth.

Previously, in our tale:

Prompt word:

DUST

“Ian, is it asking too much that you help around the house; little things like empty the dishwasher, maybe dust the furniture every once in a while,” that I was hearing Haley’s voice I had little doubt, right down to her congenital weakness for italics, the domestic jujitsu favored by middle and upper middle class women of the time.

Trouble is, there’s something wrong that I can’t put my finger on… wait, there it is, Haley was my former wife, the woman who kept half my life when we divorced at least seven years ago.

“Ian dear, will you be joining us for dinner?”

Anya Clarieaux’s voice was as real, present, and irrefutable as throwing a drowning man a medium-sized shark; the rationale being: the fish, with it’s natural buoyancy, could serve as a makeshift life-preserver; not as good as a standard life-vest but he is, after all, drowning.

The lights of Chicago, a field of miniature stars both blinking and stable, extended from the perimeter of the large table where I sat brought me back to the here and now; the ‘here’ being The Signature Room at the 95th Restaurant atop the John Hancock Center and the ‘now’ among two couples and Anya Clarieaux.

The view was 270 degrees which served to ensnare me back from wherever I had been and the voice of Anya made certain I remained here safe…for the moment.

*