Tuesday Afternoon Flash Fiction

(Somebody in my Chesterton reading group suggested Platonic Noir. They shouldn’t have. They *really* shouldn’t have.)

The dank streets of Athens stank of sweat and shattered dreams. Or maybe that was just me, an old stonecutter with attitude, questions and an inexplicable following of handsome young men. Yea, I had some questions, questions that needed answers.

Uptown was lousy with Spartans, so I’d headed down to  Piraeus. I needed to deliver something to ‘the Goddess’, and thought I might as well check in on some old friends. Besides, I have a soft spot for the horses, and I had it on good authority they’d be running that night.

A page boy saw me and delivered a message. Polemarchus wanted to see me, which was good by me, as a few of the questions I had were for him.

“Socrates, you old goat!”

“Good to see you, too, Marc.”

“For crying out loud!” Polemarchus drew up short. “Did Xanthippe hit you with a chamber pot again? The gods are OK with bathing, you know.”

“That is not why I am here,” I cut to the chase, “I’m looking for justice.”

“Aren’t we all.”

“Word on the street is that you have some ideas how a fellah might find some.”

A crowd of the usual suspects had begun to gather. This might take some time, time I might not have. And I had my doubts. In this hellhole of vice and luxury, I’d be lucky to find a decent condiment-free wheat cake, let alone justice.

Author: Joseph Moore

Enough with the smarty-pants Dante quote. Just some opinionated blogger dude.

One thought on “Tuesday Afternoon Flash Fiction”

  1. In my very limited teaching experience (5 years 5th/6th Religious Education at my parish, and 2 years subbing at the local public schools), I used the ‘who can tell me x?’ line, but with some variation – no matter what the answer, I always followed up with, ‘How did you get that?’ And I made it a point to say, ‘I Just Guessed is a valid answer, if that’s what you did’. I tried to make it Socratic, in that we talked about how they got to a wrong answer, or right. Wrong answers often brought out other points, and it was interesting to watch their normal ‘I got it right! I got wrong…’ reactions being slowly short-circuited.

    I also became convinced that most 10-12 y.o. boys did not belong in a modern classroom environment, for the most part, and I only had them for an hour…

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