the Wakefield Doctrine

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?’

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 there is but one rule: 1) the story must be exactly six sentences in length and b) the prompt word must be apparent, evident and/or otherwise referenced

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.)

Previously in our story: (from Tom): ‘Mooncross Industries‘ and (from us): First this. (then) this

Prompt word:

CORE

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me right now?”

“Get that goddamn woman back on the phone…” Lou Caesare rarely tolerated being unable to do something about a problem; having survived and, more importantly, thrived in the core of the extraordinarily-lethal world of organized crime, were an author to write the biography of the owner of the Bottom of the Sea Strip Club and Lounge, an fitting epigraph might be:

All great men, criminal and honest, are possessed of a natural talent for performing before an audience and the most successful of these project an air of irrefutable sincerity.

“Miz Claireaux, I wanted to thank you for your efforts on behalf of my people,” Lou frowned at the smile of unalloyed approval on Diane’s face from the opposite side of the booth.

“Lou, how kind of you to say that and let me assure you, I will consider your input regarding how much destruction I arrange over there in Iceland. After all, a girl can’t kill every blind date who turns out to be a boor, of course a few, every now and then, well, that’s what makes life worth living, don’t you think?”

She laughed in a way that, were there normal people participating in the conversation, they would likely soon be found in therapy, a confessional or the depths of existential despair.

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 there is but one rule: 1) the story must be exactly six sentences in length and b) the prompt word must be apparent, evident and/or otherwise referenced

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, right to where these new installments from us continue the narrative.)

The following (Part 0.5) is a little break in the action. Not quite a quiz. That said, a certain Reader once observed: ‘The best stories have characters with whom we simply enjoy spending time.’ We trust you will enjoy our little interlude.

Prompt word:

CORE

“Look, although all this international intrigue is very cool, don’t take this the wrong way, but your group, a Coordination of supervillains, well,” ~~~”Funny you say that, even though as a kid, I really believed I would grow up to be a superhero, I’ve reconciled myself to being a supervillain,”~~~ “Thing is, what makes me happy in life is dancing at Lou’s place and seeing my kid on vacation at the boarding school,”~~~ “You want to have a lot of kids too?”

“Listen, just checked with the pilot, well, he said we just broke up through five thousand two hundred and eighty feet of altitude and rising… I know we kinda just met and all, but would you care to join me in the aft restroom?”~~~”Hell, yeah…. but, being… er a bit older than me, you sure you can handle excessive G forces… no, wait, still got my cuffs, so lay on MacDuff!”

“The Bard wrote: ‘There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Leftenant, than are dreamt of in your philosophy’; might I offer the following question-slash-invitation, ‘How much do you know of Adam’s first wife?'”

“There is hope for this new generation, even if the vices are digital and the passion virtual, as long as their core values are intact, my web grows stronger with each passing day;”~~~ “Are you fuckin’ kidding me right now?”~~~ “In my very, very long life I have come to accept that Avarice, as found in a certain Garden, was both curse and gift but you, Constantin, are both my Uriel and Raphael.”

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

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.)

Previously in our story: (from Tom): ‘Whitechapel‘ and (from us): ‘Slide‘

Prompt word:

OUTLET

“La naiba de vrăjitoare” (“Godamn witches!”);

my current host, jailor and fashion icon leaned out the open door of the helicopter with a grace that made me think of a tiger crouched in a tree; despite using a single hand on the edge of the opening to prevent his falling the fifty or sixty feet to the ground, he was totally focused on the instructions originating in the cell phone held to his ear with his free hand.

The language was predominantly Romanian, yet even with the roar of the engine, his half of the conversation had a decidedly Samuel Jackson/Jules Winfield tone; that said there seemed to be an awful lot sentences needed to say: ‘Mooncross Industries will need an excavator and bulldozer before they continue their research… and a coroner and a premium LinkedIn account, given the apparent body count’.

Nodding at no one, but doing it with the palpable sense of obeisance of a samurai with none of civilized tradition but way more a feral acknowledgement of a pack’s alpha the man put the phone in his pocket as the helicopter tilted and moved towards the airport abutting the industrial park; Isla leaned against me before catching herself as her eyes went all thousand-yard stare when we passed over the remains of a sign halfway between the frontage road and the building’s blasted exterior: ‘Mooncros.. I..dustr. R&D D..vision.’

We landed next to a Bombardier Global 8000 that had the runway all to itself, the light of the luxurious interior was occluded as Constantin Szarbo stood in the doorway locking eyes with me; I heard the sophomore philosophy fave, Fredrich Nietzsche’s voice intone: ‘look into the abyss and the abyss looks back’ the thought way more disturbing now than any college dorm poster.

I felt Isla pull on my arm and, plugging my headset back in it’s socket, we got out of the helicopter and began to cross the tarmac, skirting the JP4 hurricane as the engines strained the aircraft’s brakes; halfway to stairs up to the cabin, my phone started playing a totally unfamiliar ringtone, something from a band my grandparents liked, called The Beach Boys.

I put the phone to my ear and heard, “Mr. Virgilius, listen to me, if you want to live,” I held the phone at arms length with a eyebrow raised to Isla as a woman’s laughter flooded from the speaker, “Sorry, Rocco, couldn’t resist; but what you will definitely not be resisting are my instructions, that is if you and Miz DeNite ever hope to again see the inside of a certain American Strip Club and Lounge.”