A Safer Way

Prochorus continues along the alley. His anchor makes it difficult. He squeezes between dripping pipes and ducking beneath damaged cables. He sees a middle-aged man in a business suit, walking towards him.
‘Hello,’ says the businessman. ‘Here’s my card.’
The man hands Prochorus a business card. It tells him that this man is Clyde Jossington-Reid, CEO of Corprotechnic.
‘Don’t have any business cards on me right now,’ says Prochorus. ‘I’m Prochorus.’
‘And where are you off to, Prochorus? You look awfully tired.’
‘I’m heading toward a door.’
‘Interesting. What for?’
‘Need to get rid of my anchor.’
‘Anchor?’
‘It keeps holding me back. It’s tangled up in the destructive way I’ve lived.’
‘Hmm. Wanting to redeem yourself, right?’
‘Yeah, I guess so.‘
‘Well, would you like some advice?’
‘If it’s good.’
‘Well, the way you’re going’s quite dangerous.’ He screwed up his nose. ‘I can see you’ve already been through the pipe. Anyway, there’s much worse things that could happen to you than getting stuck in a dirty pipe. There’s a lot of very powerful people who don’t want you to finish this journey.’
‘I’m not worried about that. Believe me, my anchor’s worse.’
‘I can’t see this anchor, or the chain that connects you to it. When did you first notice it?’
‘Not long after I started noticing the clues and hints.’
Clyde raises his eyebrows. Prochorus opens the book and shows Clyde.
‘Ahh. You’ve been getting distracted. Happens pretty often. People get all caught up in stuff they don’t understand. It leads them to do things they don’t really want to do, for reasons they’re not even sure of.’
‘I know what I’m doing. I’m getting rid of my anchor.’
‘Wait, I haven’t finished. I know a safer way to get rid of your anchor.’
‘Well, what is it?’
‘Become a fine upstanding citizen. A contributor to society. Move to the suburbs. Start a family. Go to church Sunday morning. And if your anchor still bothers you, there are professionals who know how to deal with such things. What do you think? It’s comfortable, it’s safe, you’ll have respectable neighbors who won’t bother you.’
If this is true, thinks Prochorus, why am I taking this difficult route?
Clyde opens a door in the wall. Old, yellow paint is peeling from its timber. Through the door Prochorus sees green hills. There are mountains on the horizon. The sky is blue. The clouds have only a hint of greyness.
‘Your new life lies just the other side of these rolling hills,’ says Clyde.
‘Thank you,’ says Prochorus as he steps through the door.


novel, writing, suburbs