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

(We usually write the week’s Six Sentence Story on Wednesday evening or Thursday morning. This Six I wrote Tuesday morning of this week which also was Halloween.)

Prompt word:

TURN

{No, don’t stop reading; these, our efforts to communicate, call them interludes, are being noted by the Sentence Counter and our supply of semicolons has been sharply curtailed; your predisposition to our kind having been established, we trust you will need a minimum of help with the instructions to follow in turn.}

“My last question is, as a writer, which is worse: seeking to manipulate the Readers of your stories into accepting fiction as fact or (that) you wish only to engage them and, with a little luck, move them emotionally,” recognizing the trap buried in her first statement, the speaker, trying to create a safe haven with the second, continued, “I’m serious, despite my physical appearance and confident manner,” with a subtlety of gesture so powerful it could only have been an issue of chromosomal imperative, the young woman pushed rebellious blond locks back from her face, into questionable restraint behind an ear, “It’s possible we might all be characters in a story of unknown origin; you can accept that, can’t you?”

{Ok, they’re on to us; in keeping with the code of the non-unreliable Narrator, I say, ‘It looks like you’re in the crosshairs of this story, the game is afoot and do not, under any circumstance, evince any objective, external reaction to me, or especially, to your being in touch with agencies of a higher plane.“}

I’d fought my parents and my friends and my high school counselors over the matter of curriculum in this, my first year here at Miskatonic University; from the moment I found the school’s site while scrubbing away a day of normal by wandering the Dark Web, a passion grew as the medications waned and memories of my earlier years scrawled subtitles to silent dreams of self-destructive behavior; sure, I’d chased a nightmare but I’m awake now and I can handle this cute little intern’s efforts to trip me up.

{Very good; your reputation as an apt pupil clearly is justified, nothing like the modern-teenage-angst melodrama that some of your generation wear like temporary tattoos, all first-glance-shock/soap-and-water washable; we leave you with words as a shield against the intrusions of the everyday world, this young lady, for example, who is so well-endowed to capture your trust and block your chosen path, heed: Reality exists only in the Mind. }

“You’ve done very well this last year and everyone is so proud of you, its just that the time you spend alone writing your little stories, especially here in this place, might not be the best way to assure a complete recovery.”

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