Russell Twyce

Tragic Lesson of Socratic Irony

A Short Story in the Dimension Jumper Series – by Russell Twyce

Definition – Socratic Irony – Feigned ignorance that exposes ignorance.

“My proposed bill will enable the police to better handle gang violence.”  James Pratt announced from his podium.  He then went on to explain some of the new powers the police would have at their disposal, along with the more draconian punishments.  At the end of his political speech, he asked for questions.

“You really are a Pratt aren’t you?”  A young man took his turn at the microphone set up for public questions.

“What is that supposed to mean?”  The politician snarled slightly and he wished for the umpteenth time that his surname wasn’t also an ironic euphemism for ‘rump’.

“I mean you’re not even the representative of an inner city riding.”  The dissenter   elaborated without touching on earlier questions.  “What’s your special connection with gang violence?  Or is this new legislation just to feather your political cap?”

“It is needed legislation.”

“Your bill will just tighten the screws on the pressure cooker and turn up the gas.  That just makes the spigots explode more violently when they fail – on either side.”

“Your attitude is not adding value to this forum.”  Pratt shot back.  He nodded over at his security people to urge them into the action of taking the microphone away.

“A youth in an urban setting cannot walk 2 blocks without at least one shake down from the police.  Consequently, many young city kids feel the need to join a gang, just for some protection from police. Your proposed bill will work counter-productively to the stated goal.  It will just increase gang enrollment and escalate gang violence.”

“I’m sorry you had to listen to that nut-case.”  James Pratt resumed after the calm interloper had been physically escorted away.  He fielded a few more bland queries and then ended this public appearance.

“He disappeared!”  The head of Pratt’s security team exclaimed to his charge.  “As soon as we left the hall, he vanished.  It was as if by magic.”

“Wake up and be a Pratt!”  The vanishing interloper was seated on the foot of the politician’s bed.

“What the hell?”  James blinked with surprise, startled from a sound sleep.  “What have you done with my wife?”

“Your pretty spouse’s Pratt is right here.”  The young intruder put his hand on a blanket lump, as if he were gently patting a woman’s shapely butt.  The sheets looked like they were made of Plaster of Paris spread over a now absent female model.  “You can’t see her because I’ve shifted you into an adjacent dimension.”

“I’m reporting this home invasion!”  Pratt reached for the cell phone that was in a charger on his nightstand, but he couldn’t pick it up: it was as if the phone were welded solidly in place.

“You won’t be able to turn your doorknob either.”  The dimension hiker warned.  “And even if it’s not latched, the hinges wouldn’t move for you.  You can only see the material things in your previous dimension, but you exert no force there anymore.”

“Shift me back!”  Pratt ordered impotently.

“I will at the appropriate time.  That will be when you actually understand the impact of you self-serving bill.”

Pratt the politician launched into a raving frenzy.  He yelled and lurched over to his dresser, where he kept a gun.  But the drawer wouldn’t budge.  The deranged man then physically attacked the smiling unwanted guest.  It was like trying to pummel a life-sized granite statue.

“Are you now ready to conduct our unfinished business?”  The unperturbed burglar said as he picked up a set of trousers from the back of a chair.  “Get dressed.”  He offered the clothes.

“I wore those yesterday.”  The politician protested.

“And you’ll use them again now or you’ll come with me in only your boxer shorts.”

“How did we get here so fast?”  James Pratt marveled at the journey from his home to the back alley of an urban downtown block that must’ve been hundreds of miles away, but where they had arrived at in about ten paces on foot.

“I’m able to go where I want, when and how I choose.  It’s an easy matter of knowing which dimensions to switch into and out of.”

“You could use your powers for the public good.”

“Do you mean I should put my talents at the government’s disposal to be assigned whatever nefarious purpose the slimy leaders want?”  The dimension hiker scoffed.  “I feel that I’m best serving society’s best interests on my own agenda.”  He pointed.  “This is what we’re here to observe.”

“Those boys are too young to be gang members.”  Pratt remarked as they watched some lads of between 10 and twelve years old, playing tag in the alley, but dressed in gang colors.

“They are certainly too young to be tried for crimes as an adult, yet that is precisely what your disgusting legislation aims to do.  They are children playing in the best street they have and their older brothers and cousins have recommended they be gang members, because the thug police make it too dangerous to be unprotected.”

“The police only use force as mandated by the situation.”

“Bull!  The cops take hormone shots and drugs to bolster their aggression.  They dole out vicious beatings before trials just to ensure that enough punishment is awarded for lawbreaking.  There is absolutely no control on the conduct of law enforcement officers.  Half of these gang kids have sisters that were raped by the police, and many are forced into prostitution with a police officer as her pimp.”

Invisibly from a nearby dimension, the politician and the hiker watched some drama play out that proved the statement was true.

“The police need to be firm to retain control.”  The politician appropriately named Pratt defended as some armed cops broke up the innocent game of tag by throwing the youngsters against the brick walls, and roughly frisking them.

“Retain control for you power-hungry freaks and your corrupt party system of gravy for sponsors and grasping fingers for everyone else.”  The dimensional hiker pulled James Pratt’s revolver from the back of his belt.  He had taken it while the politician was getting dressed.  Now he tossed it back.  “I’ll put you back into your plane.”

“Hey!”  Pratt the party hack shouted in objection as he fumbled with the thrown gun.  But his shout caught the attention of the police.  Here was where he had to start fervently praying for adherence to the ‘policy of controlled use of deadly force.’

“In breaking news,” the television anchorman read from his teleprompter, “the MP of a distant riding was gunned down by police in a city alley.  James Pratt was rushed to hospital but having received no less than ten bullet wounds, he was pronounced dead on arrival.  Details of what he was doing in that alley are unclear, but a police spokesman has confirmed the gun in Pratt’s possession is registered in his name.”

“As tragic as this story is,” the anchorman quipped, “it reads like a lesson in Socratic irony.  Pratt made recent news with a bill he was sponsoring to grant police freedom to use greater force to combat gang violence, and then some police officers gunned him down in what was seemingly a display of using excessive force.  I don’t know what to say about what that says, so let’s look at the weather forecast instead.”