That was your idea of an apology, old man?—that preposterous collection of sophistry and insults? Did you forget you were talking to a jury of 500 farmers? Athens is still a democracy, whatever you may wish. 251 farmers can stop all debate. We expected better from you, Socrates. You can grimace all you want. Flail your arms at fate: your arguing days are over. That cup of poison you drank like honeyed wine has already done what no man in Athens could do; it has silenced you. In a few minutes, it will finish killing you, and for what—because you refuse to escape? To honor a government whose laws you despise? Do your friends mean nothing to you? Don’t try to get up. Your legs are gone. The time for you to answer for yourself has passed, but what do you care? Philosophers make dying their profession. All these years we gathered at your feet to hear you talk. Now it’s your turn to listen. I was twelve when you stopped me in the agora! You think you can be easily replaced? You didn’t have to accuse them of jealousy, Socrates, or tell them so many times how special you are. You could have saved yourself and gone on to torment them like a gadfly in your own time. You got yourself swatted. You didn’t think of me. Where do I find a new mentor? You tell me the unexamined life is not worth living: well, I’ve examined mine! You corrupted me. You stole my father and you stole my Athens—guilty as charged— and now you sit there and you don’t say anything. What gives you the right to kill the only man I trust? You go now. Go and ruin the afterlife for me, too.
Copyright © July 26, 2007 David Hodges
10 comments
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July 27, 2007 at 9:01 am
donnabuddy
Beautiful stuff. I should have visited this blog sooner.
I couldn’t agree with you more. Thanks, Donnabuddy, and welcome to Very Short Novels.
–David
July 27, 2007 at 10:07 am
Jessica Weisenfels
Good work.
The Jessica Weisenfels Daily Favorite Phrasing:
“You didn’t have to accuse them of jealousy, Socrates, or tell them so many times how special you are.”
Oh, I like this, Jessica. It’s good to know your favorites. Thanks.
–David
July 27, 2007 at 10:58 am
Wizzer
David, you never cease to amaze me with the variety of your subject matter. You may get type cast as a 299 er but it would stop there!
Well, thank you, Wizzer. I guess you know better than most, having read them all!
–David
July 27, 2007 at 9:58 pm
the scholar
great story david. love the use of “grimace” and “gadfly” — who uses those anymore?
the last line made me snort — nice. keep it up! 🙂
Well, thank you, Scholar. I like those guttural reactions that can’t be faked.
–David
July 28, 2007 at 5:52 am
Great Hypocrite
“You didn’t have to accuse them of jealousy, Socrates, or tell them so many times how special you are.”
You could have saved yourself and gone on to torment them like a gadfly in your own time… . Where do I find a new mentor?”
Ahhhhhhhhhh David, you are but a great wordsmith with retrogessive as well as prospective perspective.
Keep your good work.
That’s charming, Great Hypocrite. I’ll do my best. And welcome to Very Short Novels.
–David
July 28, 2007 at 8:02 am
litlove
Oh I love this! Oddly enough I’ve just been reading about Socrates and his ability to curve the words of his interlocutors around until they contradicted or undermined themselves. The real mistake they made, the author suggested, was that they stayed to argue. So how fabulous, then, to find an interlocutor having the last word in an argument with Socrates, even if he did have to be lost in death throes for this to be possible. I love the concept of this disciple winning the bittersweet triumph of his uninterrupted, rhetorical monologue. Oh, and you write it exquisitely.
Litlove. If nobody else read this, and my only reader left me this comment, it would have been worth all the effort to get it right. Thank you.
–David
July 29, 2007 at 3:58 am
Valentin
Man, I don`t want to make you feel bad, but yet I must tell you honestly and open :
THIS is the best-greatest of your works by now.
So, please, stop producing such nice “299”-ers to prevent to make me depend on your site …
No can do, Valentin. It’s I who am addicted to them.
–David
July 29, 2007 at 4:25 pm
grantman
Oh the anger; the remorse; the humility to die at the hand of the mob. a mob that you created none the less. And I for one have always said, his last words were, “The hemlock is poison?”
Every teacher’s greatest reward is to see the student become the teacher, but in ol’ Socrates’ world something went terribly wrong.
Thanks, grantman, for reminding me of Steve Martin’s hilarious routine about the death of Socrates. For those who don’t remember it, the speech goes like this:
“It was always: ‘Socrates, what is truth? Socrates, what is the nature of the good? Socrates, what should I order? Socrates, what are you having?’ And not once did anyone ever say: ‘Socrates, hemlock is poison!’ ”
–David
July 29, 2007 at 6:52 pm
briseis
David,
This is absolutely wonderful. Stunning, thrilling. A wonderful, cunning shift—making it personal, making your narrator a devotee of his, showing the disappointment. It makes the hemlock kiss much more tragic, more lyrical.
“Philosophers make dying their profession” may well be my favourite of all the many, many sentences that you’ve written.
Why, you literate tease! I ought to rescind your library card. You know very well Plato wrote that line! Still, I have to thank you for every other nice thing you said. Glad you liked it, Briseis.
–David
Oh, David.
You wonderful, wonderful being.
July 30, 2007 at 1:51 pm
neoauteur
You have managed to craft such a great story in very few words. Keep it up.
Thank you, neoauteur, and Welcome to Very Short Novels!
–David