Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)
This is the Wakefield Doctrine’s contribution to the Unicorn Challenge.
Hosted each week by jenne and ceayr, we brave few, we band of bloggers are provided a photo, an image if you will, and charged with creating a story of not more than 250 words.
[ed. thx out to ceayr. as we mentioned last week, developing our action-writing skills was a new priority and so, with appropriate appropriations, we borrow the scene/setting of his ‘Corn this week.]
I almost threw up.
“The desires of Man too-oft gang agley,” Brother Abbott, while lacking the birthright claim of most of the initiates in the classroom, was inordinately fond of Burns. I had accompanied him to establish the Order’s first chapter in Glasgow. I sat with the young men and women, arm tensing ahead of his request for a volunteer. “While I won’t say I believe a certain ‘Leather Apron’ has moved to your fair city, the current murders here will allow you all to see the Order in action.”
Straightening my spine, the first step to disarming the vomit-coil of my esophagus, I stood between the young woman and the two men. Their carnal embrace continued five yards back beneath the shelter of a rowan, berries all the more red as a knife opened veins and arteries. The girl’s face, in sodium vapor-relief of a early-morning streetlight, is alive with emotion. Every one of them.
With a hand to her shoulder, I continued my turn, the heavy cloth of my robe adding an acoustic dampening of the thud-splash of the two men’s deadly congress.
“I won’t let them take you down into their hell,” she leaned against my arm, I lead her to my car.
Behind us the man crouched over his victim. Blood covered both, tribal paints of the Fallen taken up when Man became human.
The sirens doppler’d towards us, twin shrieks of horror and triumph. I started the engine and drove out of the night.
