Six Sentence Story | the Wakefield Doctrine

Six Sentence Story -the Wakefield Doctrine- [A Six from outer space]

May 31, 2023 By clarkscottroger

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

This is our contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.

Hosted by Denise, defined by one simple rule. Fun. Challenging.

Prompt word:

YELLOWBELLY

The last day of school for the 11th Graders at William Golding High traditionally included activities and games all sanctioned by the School Committee, in lieu of classes: the Art Department would offer a variety of cinema fare, the Athletic Dept. informal games of based (loosely) on the traditional sports; all educational disciplines participated, with the lone exception of the English Department which never appeared on the schedule, which did nothing combat their reputation for being, ‘nerds in search of lonely contemplation‘.

Seth decided that, given he had had letters in all sports, to find something different this final day of his Junior year, and ignoring the urging of his friends in the locker room to join them, wandered among the single-level buildings that made up the campus; stepping through the doors of the last building, the one housing the English Department, he stared down the corridor where the walls consisted of thin metal rectangles of hastily cleaned-out lockers divided.

Towards the far end of the hallway, the sole secured door was marked: Supply Room which caused the boy to wonder what consumables were necessary to the study of the English language and literature in such supply as to require a dedicated stockroom; while curious, he was an All-State athlete, in no small part due to his natural propensity to ‘do’ rather than to ‘reflect’ and continued towards the exit when he heard a sound, unintelligible at first.

Approaching the supply room door, the sound began to resolve itself into male and female words and laughter; “that’s not a word!” … “This is your last chance” (followed by an unexplainable outburst of laughter) and, “This is the last round… hey, Tommy, keep your shirts on,” again more inexplicable laughter.

A girl’s voice, somewhat tentative however becoming increasingly confident, cut through all the others, ‘You think you’re so smart with ‘etymology’… well, get a load of this… I’ll just use that ‘Y’ and, for the win and the rest of your team’s clothing, spell YELLOWBELLY… followed by the laughter of girls and the groaning of boys.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” an adult voice overrode the din, “We must declare the girls are this year’s winners of the William Golding High Strip Scrabble game…”

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

Six Sentence Story -the Wakefield Doctrine- [a Rue DeNite / Ian Devereaux Six]

May 26, 2023 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.

Hosted by Denise the rule: Six Sentences max, some form of the prompt word min.

Its no secret we view this bloghop as part-fun/part-experiment/fulltime skill enhancement.

When last we saw Rue DeNite she (and her bodyguard, Rocco) were riding the elevator up to the world headquarters of the Bernebau Company to meet with it’s sole proprietor owner, Cyrus St. Loreto. The Bernebau Company has proposed a joint venture with the Bottom of the Sea Strip Club & Lounge (and it’s various subsidiaries). Lou Ceasare being Lou Ceasare, has sent one of his strippers, the eponymous Rue DeNite, down to Miami to scope out the Bernebau operation. Disguised in ten thousand dollars of business fashion, Rue is hoping to make a down payment on a favor from Lou. Meanwhile, Cyrus St. Loreto has dispatched his fixer and problem eliminator, Constantin Szarbo to Lou’s establishment.

So, the double subtitle on today’s Six? We thought it would be fun to do a parallel Six. Let us know if you have questions. Be forewarned: the characters down in Miami are from a WIP (‘Home and Heart’ a Sister Margaret Ryan Story). Hopefully, (in the write-and-learn aspect of this effort), they will be self-explanatory enough to have the Six(s) stand on their own.

Prompt Word:

CAROUSEL

“Mr. St. Loreto will be with you in a moment,” Genevieve Novak smiled at Rue as she held open the conference room door, “If there’s anything I can get you,” she continued, leaning in as Rocco stepped past her, “it will be my pleasure”.

The room seemed without dimension: to the right and left, the walls faded into darkness, the entry door, when closed, was featureless as the wall separating the conference room from the reception area, “Like a trapdoor spider,” Rue thought as she walked towards the conference table on the opposite side of the room, beyond that, the fourth wall offered a view of Miami and the ocean.

Through some magic of engineering, the transparency of the glass was keyed to the direction one was looking,

“Good morning,” turning towards the voice, Rue watched the transparency move along the glass of the wall as smoothy as a passing cloud; bringing with it the natural light of the morning, it stopped short, however, of the source of welcome.

The voice would be a perfect audio sample in a dictionary under the entry: ‘sophistication’, with appropriate alternate definitions: a) dry wit, urbane humor, b) charming, predatory; Cyrus St. Loreto moved with such grace that he was arms length behind both Rocco and Rue before they were aware of him, that a door opened and closed soundlessly was hardly unexpected, crossing the thirty feet to the conference table not difficult, given the quality of carpeting, however, getting that close to them, one a trained bodyguard, was.

The owner of the Bernebau Company stepped to a sideboard in the shadows on the right hand wall, picked up a silver platter containing a coffee urn, three bone china cups, and, resting on an ebony carousel, a sugar bowl, creamer and carried it to the conference table; the section of the glass wall between the man and the sun remained slightly opaque, even as he moved about the room, he was never in direct sunlight.

“My opinion of your boss’s business acumen, not to mention style, is shooting up the charts with a bullet,” he laughed, causing a shiver to slide down the back of Rue’s dress and the muscles in Rocco’s shoulders to twitch, “I’ll have Genevieve give you access to our accounting system so you can pretend to examine our books and, after my man returns from Providence, we can begin what I plan to be a very profitable relationship.”

The Thursday night crowd was the usual mix of college kids and lotus eaters; Lou was sitting in the last booth on the Lounge side when silence rippled it’s way from the front door towards where he sat; two power-drinkers swore-off hard liquor and the dancer currently on the stage stumbled between: ‘Now c’mon, take a bottle, shake it up‘ and ‘Break the bubble, break it up‘; the owner of the Bottom of the Sea Strip Club and Lounge looked over the top of his reading glasses as a dark man in an expensive suit approached.

“Mr. St. Loreto sent me to look over your operation, that he might better assess the value of the cooperative business venture recently proposed,” Lou raised his right hand, index finger extended and the swinging doors behind him reversed their forward motion; the man smiled slightly and continued, “May I join you?”

“Yeah, that’d be great, I’d offer you a drink but you won’t be here all that long,” Lou unwrapped a fresh cigarillo and, after sliding the small spiral notepad and gold Cross pen to the side, leaned forward, his eyelids lowered slightly; business associates of long-standing would, at this point, find themselves trying to remember if their life insurance policies were up to date.

Holding a scratched Dunhill out, tailored shirt cuff drawing back over a Patek Phillippe that looked quite at home, “I am Constantin Szarbo, but that information is, of course, of little value to you”.

“I understand your business model and need only to meet those in,” a slight pull at the corner of the man’s eyes was probably a smile, “middle management; Mr. St. Loreto likes to sample a business partner’s corporate culture before,” twisting around on his side of the booth, the man looked at the dancer, who, closing her set, was throwing single-serving packets of Domino sugar out to the enthusiastic audience, “However a sampling might be in order.”

“Hey, I appreciate your coming all this way to tour my operation,” Lou Ceasare grinned like the lead horse on a carnival carousel, bringing to mind the punchline of an old joke about newlyweds, ‘That’s once…’, continued,

“Tell your boss that business is business and much as you seem to have a soft spot for my dancer, this ain’t no pastry carousel that I got here; trot back to your master and tell him that if he wants to make some money in my territory, we can talk, but I got no need for a partner, capiche?”

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

Six Sentence Story -the Wakefield Doctrine-

May 25, 2023 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.

Hosted by Denise the rule: Six Sentences max, some form of the prompt word min.

Prompt Word:

CAROUSEL

The August breeze ruffled the boy’s hair like a playful friend, iodine dry-seaweed scent whispered of adventure as he walked, reversed tent-pole between his parents towards the ocean.

The location of The Flying Horses, at the end of Circuit Avenue but before the ferry landing, was a perfect illustration of the difference between islanders and summer people: one lead away from the water and had a drugstore, barbershop and small grocery store in walking distance from the older, modest year ’round homes and the other opened in June and closed in September.

Stepping into the carousel, small blue ticket in hand, the boy smiled a laugh of joy at the wind inside the structure, it was as if weather was something different in the slightly-darkened interior where music blared at an unlikely volume.

Determined to triumph and make someone proud, he approached one of the outer ring of horses, (they were the only ones that moved up and down), and climbed up into the saddle before anyone could help him up; the boy sat waiting for the merry-go-round to begin it’s rotation and imagined the look on his mother’s face when he, after stacking the regular silver rings held out the prized brass ring as the ride turned it’s last revolution.

Each time the ride brought the boy to the ring-holder, he felt the pull of the leather belt securing him in the saddle of his wooden horse as a suggestion to re-calculate the angle needed to lean out towards it and each revolution found his extended hand just short of grabbing a ring, any ring, plain steel or shiny brass.

And the ride slowed, the music subsided and the boy looked at the rings that weren’t in front of him and felt embarrassed that his mother was smiling as if she was happy, even though he failed to secure the prize that would be the talk of the family dinner table for the rest of the summer.

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

Six Sentence Story -the Wakefield Doctrine-

May 18, 2023 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.

Hosted by Denise the rule: Six Sentences max, some form of the prompt word min.

Prompt Word:

FLUSH

“That, gentlemen,” a glance to his left, “and lady, is what they call a straight flush; read ’em and weep.”

Even as the other players at the no-limit game registered the fact his chair was as empty as the center of the table, the Sophomore, intent on cashing out his winnings, found his way blocked.

“Hey cowboy, care to invest your money in a drink with a lady?”

The double French doors that made the poker room both refuge and trap were open and clear, except for the woman currently standing under a shower of smoke-streaked light pouring down from the flush-mounted LED in the ceiling, “I guarantee you’ll be happy with the return on your investment.”

“Hey, lady, I’m flush but not insane; by all means, take my seat in the game,” the sequins of her dress began to exhibit a secret coordination, not so much intelligence as Will, the message increasingly persuasive.

The young man with the old eyes knew his chances of leaving were eroding, even as a flush rose up to show in his face; pride in his rational mind, that, while always seeking dominance, had packed its bags and left a note: ‘The king is not the castle‘.

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

Cynthia Centence Cstory -the Wakefield Doctrine-

May 17, 2023 By clarkscottroger

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

Something a little different.

Friend of the Doctrine, Cynthia, who makes the Tasmanian Devil look like Eeyore when it comes to variety of skills and productivity in the world wide web. Naturally, we constantly saying/inveigling/inviting and, at times, pester her to write a Six Sentence Story.

Imagine our surprise when, in a Comment from her over the weekend, we’re like, “Mercy’s Sakes alive, that there is a Six Sentence Story! We asked our friend if she didn’t mind our posting the post on her behalf (Latin: loco parenthetical), and she be all, ‘Yes’.

This week’s Prompt Word:

FLUSH

The pink bathroom built in 1945 held many interesting stories and voices from over the years. Inside the mirror all the razors from a father passed, and past, told of shenanigans of yesteryear. As we started to renovate, we took care to preserve the echoes of those Who Came Before- even if it was all in ugly hues of pepto pink and milk chocolate brown. I added my own touches, intent upon stamping my own legacy, too. I added whites and greens to the palette of pinks and browns, in an array of complementary and natural colors. The last thing to change was the toilet: it was too big for its spot and each flush seemingly sprayed invisible droplets all over the tiny space; after the re-do, everything came together: past and present, including the ghosts of pink bathrooms past.