Six Sentence Story | the Wakefield Doctrine - Part 7 Six Sentence Story | the Wakefield Doctrine - Part 7

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

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 sentence quantity.

Hey! The other half of the conversation? Here.

Prompt word:

PARCEL

“Do you mind if I take this call?”

The tall, thin man watched Rosette Storme, the non-verbal signals played across her face and body like a Postal Service truck exploding over the Grand Canyon in a shower of cardboard and Tyvek’d parcels; he kept his phone a chaste half-inch from his ear until she nodded a half-smile of submission.

“Yes, Mr. Devereaux, I’ve been expecting your call, and now is, in fact, a very good time to talk.”

The Proprietor raised his eyebrows in a manner at once conciliatory yet demanding, every parent’s protest that what they had to do was harder on them than the child; taking a cigarette from a case that would have stocked the Café’s bar for a month of St. Patrick’s Days, Rosette stared back with the dispassionate  concentration of a neurosurgeon reading an MRI scan next to a sedated patient, head already shaved, insensate yet alive.

“I have neither the desire nor the inclination to make this in any way an adversarial relationship…

…I’d hardly consider my wardrobe to be your greatest concern…

….since you’ve brought it up, I have the greatest respect for Mr. Caesare, while Miz Storme is acceptable to everyone here, there is no reason for Mr. Caesare to have any reason to be concerned with her well-being.”

*

 

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Six Sentence Story -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.

Hosted by Denise, it requires on qualifying characteristic: to be of precisely six sentences in length,

Prompt word:

SHADOW

“I swear to god, if either of you so much as hints at a metaphor, it’s the last thing you will ever do.”

The man began the process of getting up off the sidewalk; nothing brusque or artless, which would be the style of one his two companions, being the center of the gang, his was the way of attraction not overt coercion.

The intersection of the alley and Fountain Street was as it had been prior to their ill-advised choice of mugger victim, the original obelisk of dark shadow divided at it’s base into a curvilinear delta by the anemic inflow of illumination from a streetlight on the opposite sidewalk.

“Not me,” the second of the trio leaned against the brick wall of a boarded up social services office, almost but not quite out-of-reach of the first, “Where you go, I go, you know that.”

“Where’d he go, I’ll fuckin’ kill ’em,” the third, rising improbably from a pool of ebon fluid, staggered in a rough circle around his two cohorts. enclosing them rather than connecting in any discernable way.

The three tried to laugh, failed and settled for varying renditions of pain and discomfit, bound by their common substance dependency, separated by the degree of suffering and desperation; one of them, probably the first, once,  on a better, more hopeful day, suggested they call themselves, The Solar Eclipse Boys, but then the day’s score kicked in and and stole their artistic ambitions.

*

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

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 demands one qualifying characteristic: to be of precisely six sentences in length,

when last we saw the tall, thin man

Prompt word:

BENEFIT

“You may be wondering why I brought you here,” the tall, thin man smiled as he let go of Rosetta’s hand and stood at the one table equidistant from the bar and the small stage halfway down the interior wall of the Six Sentence Café & Bistro.

Pulling out one of the four chairs serrating the round lacquered-wood table, he paused while staring into the semi-mirrored top, an odd moment of 21st Century scrying; lightly touching the back of the young woman’s knees with the chair’s leading edge, he seated her in full view of the Proprietors who, at the present moment, were gathered in the open doorway to the kitchen behind the bar.

“We can see you staring… you know, from here,” with the unselfconsciousness of a healthy preadolescent boy, the Manager continued with a very respectable Pee-wee Herman, “Why doncha’ take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

Rosetta Storme tried, (unsuccessfully), to maintain what she was certain was the demeanor of the sophisticated and slightly dangerous young person, but as with many of her generation, fell short, if for no other reason than even with the unalloyed benefit of a full life rolling out before them, the ‘less-is-more’ inflection tends to be elusive in concept, near impossible in execution.

“So you’re trying to warn me about your little friends, don’t worry mister, I can take care of myself,” the young woman leaned forward over the table, her pupils dilated as the tall, thin man took the visual bait, she was unable to refrain from a smile of premature triumph even as the Proprietor refused to look up in the embarrassed confusion most men exhibited when walking into her trap; despite her confidence, a small coterie of hair follicles were coming to inappropriate attention over her eyes, precursor to a frown of uncertainty.

“You misunderstand me, Miz Storme,” the tall thin man sat back and lit a cigarette, “While this whole ’employment opportunity’ has been a courtesy to your Mr. Caesare, my warning to you is quite sincere: you should be considerate of the others here at the SSC&B not just out of common courtesy, you should be…careful, as the difference between you and the people at the bar, (including Chris behind the display in the Bartender’s phone and the Gatekeeper in the wisp of cigar smoke), is that while you may have power, they are the manifestation of Will.”

 

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Wednesday -the Wakefield Doctrine-

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

'yes, Doctrine favorite Edward Hopper again'

 

The next most favorite thing, according to our totally-unreliable memory, for most blog readers (and writers) is anything involving a survey and/or survey questions.  The most favorite?

  1. a list of items related to either the targeted Reader or the subject matter of the blog
  2. videos
  3. First Person narrative (reliable or un-)
  4. intriguing images and such

Understanding the nature and characteristics of the three personalty types of the Wakefield Doctrine: (

  1. clarks (the Outsider)
  2. scotts (the Predator)
  3. rogers (the Herd Member)

) will allow you to know more about the other person than they know about themselves.

Utilizing the perspective of the Wakefield Doctrine permits one, (provided they have the desire and will), to know better how the other person is experiencing the world at any given moment.

cool. huh?

gotta get back to writing our contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop. One of which will be a Six Sentence Café & Bistro Six. These, or at least the setting, the aforementioned Café, is a virtually metaphoric nightspot. While it can be found in most cities (and some rural areas), what makes it so much fun is it’s consistency of form. What this means is, you want to write a story (a Six or whatever) well, we have the setting already established! So if your story is mostly interaction between character then half the work is done for you. Plus there are others who write to this location. Just so, you know, you’re at a loss for dialogue, well, these folks would be glad to interact.

The floor plan for the Café is standardized. So if you feel like a challenge, on any given weekly Six Sentence Story bloghop, write yourself a visit. (No limit on POV or theme. Come as you are or come as some part of your psyche would be. No one is checking IDs lol)

The locale:

off a main thoroughfare, halfway down the primary artery devoted to commerce , take a side street (perpendicular to where the must-have shoppes, professional services, including but not limited to lipo and psycho suction) and continue one-too-many blocks until the plate glass windows start to become opaque with dust and time. You should now find yourself in what appears to be the former manufacturing district (of your un-named city), look for a five-storey mill building. go past that, turn left on a lane, the surface of which has gone, quite without your noticing the transition, from smooth asphalt to cobblestone. There is a sidewalk turning down a street. Follow. On the left is a five story building. You’ll see a single red door. It is slightly below grade, there are three granite steps down to the entrance to the Café. (There is, most times, a personage at the door. Usually outside. this is the Gatekeeper. Guess what his job is. (lol).

The exterior door is old oak. The exterior walls are granite and brick.

Once inside the door, there is a vestibule formed using fairly modern design and materials. There are two cigarette machines on the right. Their tops are covered with stacks of the local Free Paper, three-color, glossy paper real estate booklets in their own cardboard upright stands and, finally two slightly leaning stacks of Awake! and The WatchTower.

Through the stainless steel and glass door from there and you’re in the Six Sentence Café & Bistro.

(running out of time! quick non-effective rhetoric to give you a sense of the place)

the floor plan is rectangular. from where you’re standing the nearest long side is the exterior wall (you just came in at the near end). There are alcoves alomg this wall with tables sets in them and, for reasons left to future visitors, some have diaphanous curtains offering privacy. A former mill, the ceilings are high and dinosaur-ribbed with rough-hewn wood beams. The opposite/parallel wall is an interior wall of brick. There is a small (two steps up) stage at its longitudinal center. The wall farthest away (the ‘short’ side of our rectangle) is an exterior wall. Three quarters of this space is taken up with round-topped tables with four chairs each, except for the dance floor in front of the stage (like, where else would you expect it to be?). There is one table, along the interior wall, just past the stage where you will see a laptop which is always on. That’s where you might see the Raconteuse, if she’s in town.

Back to where you should still be (after stepping from the vestibule), from this point along the right hand (the other short leg of the rectangle) runs the bar. The Bartender will most likely be seen there, unless she’s in the kitchen with Tom or has the day off. The kitchen is accessed by double swinging doors that bisect the long row of bottles and neon set on mirrored shelves.

The far end of the bar? Now comes the intriguing aspect. The very end (think of the short right angle turn of, say a towel rack on the wall), the waitress station. You might see a woman in dressed all couture and Nike. Beyond her is a wide gap in the interior wall. To the left: the restrooms and to the right? ah ha! that branch of the hall leads to the Manager’s office (the door is marked by cheap reflective metal hardware store letters, slightly askew) further down the hall… nah

There you go! Your invitation to come set a spell in a virtual, metaphoric nightspot. Interesting people. Unlimited possibilities.

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

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 relies on a single, qualifying characteristic: stories are precisely six sentences in length.

Prompt word:

BOND

“Walk with me.”

The surprising thing was not that the tall, thin man managed to stand in the doorway to the kitchen without being noticed approaching, nor was it the obvious fact that he was already walking away, out into the main public area of the Café, before uttering the concluding pronoun of his ‘request’. To the unsurprised Proprietors, (and Tom), gathered in the sterile light of the kitchen, that he had singled out Rosetta Storme was.

As the Bartender and Tom and Mimi watched, the manager walked out among the tables that spread in no easily discernible pattern or order throughout the open rectangular space; the long side of this part of the Bistro was centered by the small stage backing up against an interior wall that showed it’s structural DNA in the off-white outlines of mortar forming the traditional running bond design.

To a casual observer, the man’s path was as circuitous as a chatbot’s interpretation of Wyeth’s ‘Christina’s World’.

The silence, both bond and distinction, among the two Proprietors (and Tom) was accented by one, un-inflected comment, “Well, mes amis, this will be interesting.”

 

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