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 each week by Denise, all we’re asked to do is write a story of six (and only six) sentences.
Prompt word:
STOCK
‘From stock room to boardroom,’ the man stood at the window-wall that framed the expanse of blue that was Lake Michigan on an early January morning. The expression on his face was a battlefield of pride and shame, as the phrase, ‘lock, stock and barrel’ pushed all other thought to the side as nurture triumphed over nature.
Having completed his daily invocation, the president of the Omni Corp rested his forehead against the glass in profane genuflection to Mammon and Friedman, his prophet.
Without changing his posture, one in which balance was as much an illusion as the belief in the value of his own will, the man looked down; the city streets, already alive with people and vehicles pulsing and flowing like corpuscles giving life and clearing waste from a living, growing body.
“Mr. Avaritia, the men from the SEC are here,” Anya Clarieaux stood in the doorway, her title was Executive Administrative Assistant but any stock analyst, from the NYSE to the Nikkei and all points in-between would, after a long enough day on the financial ramparts, whisper, like young boys sharing old, dirty jokes, ‘Wither goest Anya’.
“Tell them to wait, I have one last file to secure,” the windows along the northern side of the penthouse offices were not designed to open, save one; ‘If you apply yourself and never admit defeat, you can be so much more than everyone else’ the words of his father as softly corrosive as rust on the undercarriage of an old car.
