After Dinner Conversation: Philosophy | Ethics Short Story Magazine - September 2022

114 Pages·2022·12.4 MB·English

After Dinner Conversation Magazine – September 2022
This magazine publishes fictional stories that explore ethical and
philosophical questions in an informal manner. The purpose of these stories
is to generate thoughtful discussion in an open and easily accessible manner.
Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and
incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or
locales is entirely coincidental. The magazine is published monthly in
electronic format.
All rights reserved. After Dinner Conversation Magazine is published by
After Dinner Conversation in the United States of America. No part of this
magazine may be used or reproduced in any manner without written
permission from the publisher. Abstracts and brief quotations may be used
without permission for citations, critical articles, or reviews. Contact the
publisher for more information at [email protected]
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ISSN# 2693-8359 Vol. 3, No. 9

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Copyright © 2022 After Dinner Conversation
Editor-In-Chief: Kolby Granville
Acquisitions Editors: R.K.H. Ndong & Stephen Repsys
Design, layout, and discussion questions by After Dinner Conversation.

https://www.afterdinnerconversation.com
After Dinner Conversation believes humanity is improved by ethics and
morals grounded in philosophical truth. Philosophical truth is discovered
through intentional reflection and respectful debate. In order to facilitate that
process, we have created a growing series of short stories across genres, a
monthly magazine, and two podcasts. These accessible examples of abstract
ethical and philosophical ideas are intended to draw out deeper discussions
with friends, family, and students.
AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION
Table Of Contents

FROM THE EDITOR ................................................................................................. - 4 -
MILLA’S DANDELION .............................................................................................. - 5 -
THE HEAVEN — THE EARTH ................................................................................. - 19 -
FRENCH CONNECTION ......................................................................................... - 38 -
WHERE HAVE ALL THE YOUNG GIRLS GONE? ....................................................... - 44 -
REFLECTIONS ON MR. TWAIN .............................................................................. - 53 -
IDLE HORNS ......................................................................................................... - 72 -
THE MIND READER .............................................................................................. - 85 -
AUTHOR INFORMATION ..................................................................................... - 110 -
ADDITIONAL INFORMATION ............................................................................... - 112 -

* * *

SEPTEMBER 2022 Vol. 3, No. 9
AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION
F r o m T h e E d i t o r
I was recently reminded of a conversation I had in
college after finding out my advisor was gay. My friend asked
me if I thought he was born gay; it was a question I hadn’t even
considered or considered relevant.
My response was, “If a person tells me they wear a size
nine shoe, what do I care if they were born with a size nine foot,
or if they are cramming their foot into a shoe too small? It
seems to make them happy, and it’s none of my business.”
I recently saw a definition of liberty that read, “Liberty
consists of being able to do everything which does not harm
others. The exercise of the natural rights of each individual has
no limits other than those which guarantee the exercise of these
same rights to the other members of society…”
With everything in the news the last few months about
politics, the courts, and laws, both from the left and the right,
this definition continues to stick with me. It seems odd to me
that people are so protective of their own liberty, and yet so
quick to take away the liberty of others.
So many conflicts seem like the LGBTQ/shoe sizing
thing. If what you are doing doesn’t take away my liberty, why
my business what you do? Why is that so complicated?

Kolby Granville – Editor
SEPTEMBER 2022 Vol. 3, No. 9
AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION ARTHUR JAROS
M i l l a ’ s D a n d e l i o n
Arthur Jaros
* * *
The sun blinded Alchemilla as she entered the meadow.
It was hidden deep in the forest, too deep for anyone to venture
in without a reason. She didn’t mind the isolation, and if
anything, it made her work easier. After her eyes adjusted, she
took off her bag, opened it, and leaned it against a tree so she
would have an easier time putting flowers in. The list pinned to
her sleeve had gotten wet on the way over, so the last few lines
were illegible, which meant she would have to come back for
those later. It was inconvenient, but such was the life of a florist.
Hiking up her skirt, she stepped into knee-high grass and
began to sift through flowers. Alchemilla had spent years
researching each wildflower in the meadow yet was still unable
to identify them all. Her sketchbook was filled with charcoal
drawings of viper’s buglosses, trailing arbutuses, trout-lilies,
and true forget-me-nots. She had experimented with
watercolors, but the paint always seeped past the lines,
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AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION ARTHUR JAROS
destroying the art’s integrity.
The flowers were scattered all over, so she would have to
spend a good portion of her foraging looking for them.
Thankfully, this week’s list was short, and she already knew
where those flowers were located. Purple bergamots were near
the middle, which was a good place to start. On the way over,
she could feel the blades of grass slicing her ankles. They never
drew much blood, but they took a long time to heal because she
would subconsciously scratch the scabs off. She’d tried wearing
longer socks, but burrs caught on the fabric and were a hassle
to remove. She preferred pain to tedious tasks.
Once she reached the center, she pulled out a petite pair
of shears and got to work. She always made sure to cut to the
bottom of the stem, so they’d be easier to bundle and bring
back. After she finished with that section, she moved to the next
flower on her list. She had started gathering mertensia when
she sensed a presence nearby. There were rumors of deathly
creatures wandering these woods, but Alchemilla had never
humored them, figuring they were nothing more than folktales
meant to discipline children. And yet, she could feel someone,
something, staring at her. It was most likely some sort of
woodland animal, perhaps a deer or a fox, but she wasn’t
positive. Slowly, she placed her bundle of flowers on the
ground and got on her knees. From this vantage point, she
couldn’t see much, but neither could her watcher. She closed
her eyes and listened for a change in the wind, a shuffle in the
dirt, a deep breath—anything that would show her where this
being was in relation to her.
After a moment, she heard it—a crunch of leaves to her
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left. Turning toward the sound, she stood cautiously, looking
for any sign of life. Above the tall grass, she spotted a pair of
moose antlers. She had gotten worked up over nothing. It was
odd that the moose was so far from water, but at least it was
nothing more than an animal. As long as she didn’t disturb it,
then she would be okay. Picking up her bundle and pocketing
her shears, she tiptoed back toward where she had come when
she saw the antlers rise. Her heart stopped when he revealed his
entire form.
At his full height, he was at least twice the size of
Alchemilla, with plenty of room to spare. His stature was so
large it reminded her of the armored guards her husband hired
to keep her in the house on days her shop was closed. The most
unique trait was his head: a badger’s with moose antlers.
Alchemilla froze, but not in fear, in disgust. Amongst the fields
of floral beauty was a horrifying creature whose body appeared
to be stitched together with loose thread. As it turned to her and
she saw its large black eyes, she quickly averted her gaze and
ran off toward the forest. She tossed aside her bundle of flowers
and didn’t bother to grab her bag before she ran through the
woods, hoping the trees would hide her. She ran all the way
back to her town, only stopping once she was out from under
the canopy. Unfiltered sunlight was a comfort.
It was too early for her to be back, but she didn’t have the
energy to go looking for another meadow. Her legs felt like they
were being pricked by barbed needles and her hair had
completely fallen out of the braid. Going out again was
impossible. Finally, she reached her house, and after fiddling
with the doorknob, she stumbled in.
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AFTER DINNER CONVERSATION ARTHUR JAROS
“Alchemilla, you’re home early,” her husband said,
standing from the table. Kestrel was an exceptionally plain man,
both in looks and manner. They’d hastily married after they
were found sleeping together. Now, she would do anything to
take back that night.
“What did you do?” he asked.
“I had to run back from the meadow.” Alchemilla tried to
dust off some of the dirt and leaves, but stopped when she
realized they would get on the floor and make more of a mess.
“Why would you do that? Did you somehow forget that
you have a baby to think about? This isn’t just about you
anymore.”
“We don’t know if I’m pregnant yet,” Alchemilla said
quietly.
“We aren’t having this conversation again—even the
doctor confirmed it.”
“The doctor could be wrong.”
“You’re unbelievable.” He threw his hands in the air
before sitting back at the table and roughly carved a smoked
boar’s thigh.
“Aren’t you going to ask me why I was running?”
“Why were you running, Alchemilla?”
“There was a monster.”
He laughed. “Are you serious?”
“Yes! It was terrifying. It must’ve been at least ten feet tall
and had the head of a badger with moose antlers.” She
motioned to where the antlers were located above her head.
Kestrel was silent. “This has to be your worst excuse yet.”
“I’m not lying!”
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“I’m going out for a bit. Maybe by the time I get back
you’ll have settled down enough to talk some sense.”
“Kestrel—”
He grabbed his coat and left before she could finish.
Despite her physical state, Alchemilla could not sleep
that night, even with the rain that normally lulled her into
unconsciousness. She swore she had seen the creature, but
maybe Kestrel was right. Maybe she was going mad. After
another restless turn, she decided—she was going back to the
meadow in the morning.
There wasn’t much she could bring since she had
abandoned all her belongings yesterday, but it made the hike
easier without a bag to hold on to.
Once the dirt path ended, she pulled herself over a log
that sat above a stream overflowing with crayfish. In the past,
she had tried to wade through the water, but she had gotten sick
of being pinched by the demon-like creatures. Eventually, she
came across a tree shaped like a mourning dove’s wing—ashy
white draping over the forest canopy—and simply walked
underneath it to reach the meadow.
Before she stepped into the light, she surveyed the field,
looking for the misshapen being. He sat on a tree stump at the
edge of the forest opposite of Alchemilla. If she wanted to get a
good look at him, she would have to get closer. Quietly and
carefully, she ran over to her bag and rummaged through it for
her box of charcoal. To her dismay, it was at the very bottom,
so she had to dig through the rest of her belongings to get it.
Thankfully, her sketchbook was in another pocket and easy to
grab. Then, she put the sketchbook and box of charcoal under
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