Comfort Zone: A Metaphor

The Prison Guard only lets you have one hour with me.
Thick plated glass separates us, with one thin wire to connect.

You can get out any time. So I ask yet again, why do you stay?

“I have shelter, food, and a thin wire to you. Without these securities, I’d be lost.”

I sink in my chair, wishing I could take you from this place, but I know the Guard and other friendly neighborhood police would track you down and convince you to go back.

I spy the Guard, frowning over your shoulder. Our time is nearly up, until the next day, and suddenly I want to lash out at the Guard. I’ve seen the Guard hurt you, both by filling your cell with offal and filthy hobos, and by playing tricks on your mind. I’ve seen you broken down, crawling back to the cell, no matter how infested, convinced it was disinfected and clean for good now. Because what else is there for you in this world?

I’m going to create a place for you outside the jail, to give you a choice. I just hope you take it and leave the Guard behind.

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