by Claudia Iversen
Marcus Aurelius rarely lost his composure, but that day, amidst the clamor of the Forum, a child’s careless shouting frayed the last threads of his patience. He turned, voice sharp and stern, causing the boy’s lip to tremble and eyes to glisten. The moment passed swiftly, as regret swept in heavier than any triumph of statecraft. Alone in his study that night, he wrote in his journal, I govern Rome, yet fail to govern myself. The boy’s face haunted him more than any battlefield or senatorial slight. In the morning, Marcus sought him out; not as an emperor, but as a flawed man yearning to teach by quieter example.
6S
Claudia Iversen writes historical flash fiction and meditative micro-essays from her home in Oslo.