Healthy Living
Dan’s in the swamp now, slogging forward as quickly as he can, hoping it won’t catch him here in the muddy water.
Running down the road was easier, though hoofing it over asphalt pavement in wing-tipped Borgolini designer shoes would never make him a track star. Buried in the thick crud at the bottom of the swamp, these expensive oxfords are worthless now. Dan would like to just kick them off and let his bare feet do the pushing, but he doesn’t have the time. All his energy is focused on keeping him ahead of it.
Back at the high-class bar, where it first approached him, Dan was able to laugh off its offers and accusations. He was at the top of his game, and didn’t need its promises. He could afford to laugh, argue, and to counter punch its jabs. He had just closed that million dollar deal, and he was feeling the lower classes envy his Canali double breasted suit. Each wave of covetousness pushed his pride higher, and made him cockier.
As it challenged him, Dan gave back everything he had; humor, sarcasm, existential BS, and aggressive apathy, but it wouldn’t surrender and go away. He threw names at it; Plato, Descartes, Neitzsche, and Confucius, but it tossed the monikers aside, and persisted. He quoted and debated, but it ignored all logical arguments and kept pushing its point. Dan threw everything he learned in college libraries at it, but it still kept pushing forward. Dan was slipping off the bar stool, and coming up empty. He could see a knockout punch coming, so he waved it off, told it to talk to the hand, called it a filthy name, and walked out of the bar.
It followed him, shouting its original promise. That’s when Dan began to run.
His Borgolini’s took him to the end of the block, but it was walking slowly right behind him. Dodging a yellow cab and a blue Prius, he crossed the street in the middle of the block. It followed, waiting for the light to change at the cross walk. Dan ducked into a building, and dived into the first elevator he saw. The doors closed, he sighed, and relaxed. When he door opened with a swish on the roof top, it was there, waiting for him, offering the same accusation and promise. Dan ran to the stairway doors. It was only 15 floors back to the street.
Breathless on the street, Dan hailed a cab. It got in with him. They wrestled, rolling all over the back seat of the Chevy, until the cab driver stopped in the middle of nowhere, and insisted Dan get out. The driver didn’t even ask for the fare. So Dan ran again, this time into the woods. It followed, patiently, of course. Tree to tree, bush to bush, Dan dodged its words, and occasionally threw rocks. It kept coming. Dan kept running, and didn’t stop at the water’s edge.
Now Ben is at the edge of the shore, covered with mud, mosquito bites, and pushed on by fear. He pulls his soggy Italian shoes up from the muck, falls on the dirty little beach, and heaves for breath. His expensive suit is ruined, and is pride is gone. It is standing quietly over him.
He surrenders, and accepts its accusations, anticipating punishment.
It forgives instead, gives Dan the promise again, and then lets him go.
Now Dan is muddy and bewildered, but free.
The promise sits quietly in his wet hands.
What is he to do now?
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