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:
TABLE
After selecting one small book from a bookcase marked: ‘For the Hallway’ and his favorite Mont Blanc pen, the Proprietor paused before stepping into the hallway. His eyes sought the brightness and illumination to the right where the hallway led to the Café & Bistro currently full of normal people sitting at small, round, wooden tables celebrating a normal existence.
With a determined, if not slightly resigned smile, the Proprietor instead stepped to the left, his intimate knowledge of the building causing the intermittent blackouts to sputter, as if in frustration, as he walked further along the corridor; tracing a small tattoo: طواف, on his left wrist, the impeccably-tailored man laughed the word ‘widdershins’ and proceeded, the light of his torch elbowing the darkness out of his way until finding the door he sought.
“La Raconteuse, I presume,” offering a modest smile as his letter of transit, the tall, thin man paused just inside the room even as the shadows of the hallway butted against the now closed door to Room 215; a flare of twisted light knifed futilely under the door, barely missing the left heel of his Stefano Bemer Oxfords.
“If I might be so presumptuous as to suggest you step away from that particular window,” the emphasis on the word particular was accompanied by a head tilt towards the seating around a small, black marble fireplace.
“Now, as a beloved friend no longer with us once said to me, ‘tell me how you managed to find this particular room and don’t leave anything out’,” the Proprietor laughed in approval at the remarkable variety of objet d’art, curios and steampunk clockworks.











