The executioner moved Socrates to the cell. His mind raced in the intensity of the moment. Rumors had spread of the magnitude of his crime. No one questioned the system of government so vividly and powerfully before. It was heard that he "corrupted the youth." Who was right, this giant-of-the-mind wise man demonized by the public or the trusted and respected democracy? Ho! Socrates might be a demon. Demons lurk the woods at night looking for human blood to feast on; it's why the executioner works at night and sleeps during the day - to protect his life. The wife calls him crazy. Alive he tells her of what he is and that no one should underestimate the ferocity of Hell. Thunder roared tonight. Boom! Streaks of light danced across the ebony sky.
Quickly, before he forgets, he praises the mysterious man, for he knew no more a courageous man than him. "You may be put to death this night, but you are the wisest man I have ever met."
"Ah," replied Socrates. "Thank you for your kind words, but here goes no wise man, only a man tired of life."
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