Six Sentence Story | the Wakefield Doctrine

Six Sentence Story -the Wakefield Doctrine- [ an Ian Devereaux Six]

January 15, 2025 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. defined by a single number: 6 (the exact number of sentences in qualified stories)

Prompt Word:

POOL

“Anyone here?”

A languid slapping of liquid against an unyielding object combined with shimmering reflections on the half-round ceiling did nothing to improve my mood; my admin’s insistence I treat the text requesting a meeting in an out-of-service rail tunnel as spam and a waste of time somehow sparked an argument, maybe the third in the five years Hazel has worked for me.

“I’m here per your text and, I might add, not in the mood to fuck around;”

hearing my vulgarity hang in the darkness triggered a flashback to the fourth grade at Our Lady of Mercy parochial school, my humorless laugh, an atavistic response to the nearing of the uncanny did nothing to offset the chill raising the hair on the back of my neck.

My cell phone pinged ‘Text Messages’, even as my resolve began to pool around my feet; it’s been my experience that genuine fear doesn’t walk up and shout ‘Boo’, rather, it seeps into the body and a weakness of the leg muscles are it’s only tell.

Looking down into the display, I scrolled through the messages: “Are you coming in today, H’ …” “OK you’re a great boss, but two days without a word…” and, “Now you’re scaring me, no one has seen you for three days, the cops are useless, I’m going down to the sleazy bar of yours, maybe they know what’s going on”.

I decided that my admin deserved a raise and I would turn and walk back the way I came, halfway there I heard a voice coming from farther to my left than the diameter of the tunnel should permit, “We need to talk.”

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

Six Sentence Story -the Wakefield Doctrine- [a Café Six]

January 9, 2025 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 it is governed by a single rule: all stories must be exactly six sentence in length.

Prompt word:

MACHINE

“You know what this joint needs?”

It was late morning on the first Tuesday of the New Year and the Six Sentence Cafe & Bistro was as empty as an upside-down pail.

Seeing the woman sitting at the end of the long bar, the tall, thin man shielded his eyes from an imaginary light-source and called-out in an exaggerated aside, hand in front of his mouth, palm outwards, “Mimi, you’re not gonna leave a brother hangin’ metaphorically-….”

“Cher, surely you don’t mean, ‘dialogue-istically speaking’, were you to, you’d end up as tangled in the alliterative underbrush as an ole gator what chased un cocodrie in his leaky pirogue,” the diminutive woman laughed with a natural kindness that defied mockery.

“Sorry, I thought the Café fiction machine was on the fritz again, please do not let me disturb your reflection, I just…” the well-dressed Proprietor had a look of chagrin even as he lit another of his favorite brands of cigarette, Player’s Navy Cut; seeing the look in the woman’s eyes, he hastily added, “No, I gave up years ago, but I have a Reader who, though no longer a smoker herself, enjoys their fictional representation,” his smile served as convivial punctuation.

The laughter from the bar reminded the tall, thin man of how, in a fictional reality, things really do work out for the best, even as the peaceful impromptu moment was interrupted by the Bartender bursting through the kitchen’s double swinging door.

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

Six Sentence Story -the Wakefield Doctrine-

January 8, 2025 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 it is governed by a single rule: all stories must be exactly six sentence in length.

Prompt word:

MACHINE

Leaving his third floor apartment, the Sophomore resolved anew to accept that he had been transported fifty-five years into the future from his eponymous second year of college and, upon further reflection, added to his New Year resolutions the goal of nurturing gratitude for finding himself in the company of the people, who, for reasons no one thought to explain, called themselves Proprietors of the Six Sentence Café and Bistro. While lacking the laid-back vibe and remarkable music scene of the end of the ’60s, he knew if he was ever going to find how or even why he’d been temporally dislocated, he needed to embrace the present.

The sidewalk, as he approached the Café, ceased being a brick ‘n soot maze, the work of the first modern industrial engineers serving the monied-patriarchs sitting in homes in the city’s finest neighborhoods, known, without the slightest sense of irony, as College Hill; the young man smiled at the memory the girl he met at a college mixer in the Ivy League school on the Hill, his mood souring with the realization that she would now be seventy-three years old.

The five-story building that housed the Café and served as the involuntary time-traveler’s sanctuary, came into view as he turned the final corner but his attention was hijacked by a billboard sign in the middle of a freshly cleaned lot.

Brand new and totally incongruous, it offered the image of a family walking, in the background were open fields and distant mountains; the adults were smiling grimly and the two children gazed upwards; the artwork was in a pointillist style with an earthy palette, the result was thoroughly wholesome and homespun.

Dominating the top half of the 10.5 by 36 foot sign were two lines of text;

in comic sans:

‘The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog’

below which, in Times New Roman:

‘Serve the Machine and your needs will be met’.

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

Six Sentence Story -the Wakefield Doctrine- Part 1 (… earlier that same, final evening of the Year)

January 2, 2025 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.

Hosted by Denise, it requires but one thing from participating writers: the story must consist of exactly six sentences.

Yeah, this is the first part of a two part Six (not to mention something of a prequel to our host’s own set of stories set in the eponymous locale of the Six Sentence Café & Bistro.)

Prompt word:

STYLE

“And don’t forget, ladies, post your dance schedules to your social media and link to the Club’s site, we’ll take care of the video feed,” Diane Tierney stood, half-in half-out of the swinging doors just behind Lou’s booth where she could watch the front door and the kitchen and the dressing room full of strippers, “Salome, count your veils, last week you got to 13, I assure you, Rue will not be happy if you cut into her time, she is our headliner.”

She turned and almost collided with me, so naturally I smiled and managed a ‘Early Happy New Year, Diane, which earned me a distracted smile and a hand on my arm; I’ll take it.

Without the slight hint of glissando, the volume of the house-music dipped suddenly, causing the packed house to mutter un-spellable interrogatives; Diane’s eyes change from a hush of purple to a flare of violet; say what you will about her personal life, the woman had style.

The shoals of revelers, including those who hoped to wish the owner, Lou Caesare, a happy New Year, which, not for nothin’ did not count against a body, went full-on Red Sea between the currently vacant hostess station and where I’d stepped back a step, putting me at Lou’s left shoulder; note to self: the glance of approval from the man at my possibly unintended stance of protectiveness made the previous 364 days way better.

For the first time in the three-and-a-half-years I’ve know Lou, this was the first time I’ve seen him get up from his side of the booth to greet a visitor.

Extending his hand to one of the Proprietors of the Six Sentence Café & Bistro, Lou’s eyes never left those of the young woman; the smile on his face would make the Mona Lisa consider shaving her head and getting a nose ring; my sole New Year’s resolution became to develop a tenth of the man’s style.

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

Six Sentence Story -the Wakefield Doctrine- Part 2 [a Café Six]

January 1, 2025 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 it has but one rule: make it Six Sentences, binyons

This being a Six Sentence Café & Bistro story, it is most likely there will be other writers contributing views, perspectives and parallel (as well as intersecting) storylines. For example, our host, Denise’s first Six is set in the Café later on the same New Year’s Eve.

Prompt word:

STYLE

The tall, thin man, holding open the inner door, allowed himself to be caught in the riptide of cigarette smoke, Viktor & Rolfe and good, old-fashioned pheromones as Rosetta Storm swept into the Six Sentence Café & Bistro.

He spotted, in the fairly crowded club, his fellow Proprietors in their usual places; the Gatekeeper stood outside at the top of the three stairs leading down from the sidewalk to the Café, Charon didn’t have nothin’ on him; Chris, who, at times aka’d the scene as Raconteuse, was at her table just beyond the small stage, bathed in the halo of colors streaming from the laptop that served as anchor while she jaunted through worlds both fictional and real; Tom, visible in the kitchen by way of the porthole windows of the swinging doors, a ghost with a cleaver, he could be heard speaking to someone out of sight, “Well, faith ‘n begorra, I know it’s not ye style, why don’cha tell her off now …me head’s chocka, life’s too short lass.”

Walking towards their table, the tall, thin man heard friendly greetings and well-wishes from new customers and regulars, yet was enchanted by the glittering cascade of sequins that claimed to be his young companion’s evening dress, giving truth to the fact that magic spells draw the majority of their power from the soul of the target rather than the mind of the sorcerer.

Rosetta stopped at a table occupied by two couples and stood, an ever-so-slight cantilever to her left hip; there was a dip in the temperature of the air to make an 18th Century ghost hunter wail in envy; with barely a nod to the hapless group, Rosetta tossed her Birken clutch onto the table as the hapless foursome gathered their personal property and sought the social balm of being indistinguishable among the crowd of celebrants surrounding them.

The tall, thin man stepped behind the young woman at the now empty table; her smile was deflected by his grin as he contimued to scan the bar for one or both the remaining Proprietors, Mimi and the Bartender.

As carnal ransom, (or profane obeisance), Rosetta pressed back against the Proprietor’s hands as he held her chair, exceedingly confident of herself as well as her couture, and recalled her dresser’s shy comment earlier in the evening, “If the eyes are the mirror to one’s soul, this dress is a reflection of the Underworld.”