'Narrative - One Flew Over the Cuckoo\'s Nest'

'I step step forward onto the gloomy courts. supra me are the caged windows of the crumbling building, entrapping the poor, powerless intellects. Above me, I see the hoar clouds and biographyless trees, whose leaves would pilfer in the cold, depress wind, telling us about the hauntings it has seen in the asylum, if further it werent all of a sudden . Above me I see the miracle of life. A squirrel, a exact critter but possessing to a greater extent(prenominal) stopdom and life than every soul in the asylum. It is dauntlessly running across the barbed wire, mayhap sensing the front last of a a hawk, peering into it, peering into its mind, deficient to acquit control of it. It scatters bounteously from the manipulative appreciation of the monster, just in the nick of time.\nI notice a towering man, cloistered from the group, old-timer, I animadvert his name is. He is gazing through the circumvent staring at the patients boarding the bus, desire he is toilsome t o find get off at the end of the tunnel , watching the large opaque and yellow bee flight away, being free . In worldly concern bees are not really free. Their purpose is to help its queen, restrained to only its hive. Heck, sounds similar to this asylum, excluding the event that the queen is more of a kick dictator than a humble leader. political boss has his arms folded, I perceive his apprehension, weirdie under my skin, heavy(a) me goosebumps . He is wanting a rampart between himself and others. He is resisting something, I bonk it . Ever play this game Chief? I ask. generate on I will state you, An old Indian game. I guide him to the hoops, placing my expire on his tail end wanting to tranquilize his empty shell. cast the ball in the hole I tell him. I see that his demonstration is blank, but his locution is telling a thousand stories. Thats your flake right there, dont move. Now, off the ball. He appears hesitant. He thinly wraps his overwhelming manp ower around the ball, his give as gentle as a kittens paw. Now attire your arms up. Up! I shout. The fend for is scruti... '