| One Cloudy Night (Conclusion) By. Ratt |
| Now two figures stepped into the room from the bathroom, one stayed back in the shadow while the other came forward. He reminded Durk of a painting he had seen of Socrates, a tall philosophical type, with a long white beard, wrapped loosely in a plain white sheet. The figure sat quietly in the other chair and looked deeply into Durks eyes. Uncomfortable Durk swallowed another shot of whiskey. As if this was exactly what the philosopher had been waiting for he began his monologue, �Dear sir, have you not considered the loss the world would suffer if you left. Not the loss the Lawyer spoke of. But the loss of your mind, you have already demonstrated a complicated mind of the philosophical sort. Why not continue in this way, not for you but for the culture of this sickening society.� �I regret to inform you Socrates, but the age of philosophers died shortly after you yourself did. I fear that any philosophy I put forth will be ignored by all.� �But that is exactly why you must do this, to reanimate the deadened mind of your society, none the less it would give purpose to your life, that you may continue with a light heart.� �No, it is not to be, I would still feel worthless. Go stand with the others. I have made up my mind.� Under the watchful eyes of the five Durk lifted a previously overlooked item from the floor. Casually he finished of the bottle in one deep swallow. Then lifting the barrel of the shotgun to his mouth he nodded formally to the audience. In one moment it was over, Durk stood beside the fifth person and looked at his corpse. �I suppose that�s it. We can go now.� Death placed his arm around Durks shoulders and led him off. |