One Fell In Love In The Coo-Coo's Nest

When I woke up in the psychiatric ward I hated absolutely everyone in the world and trusted none of the crazies locked up with me—that was until I met a self-cutter with a really intriguing hair style.

While everyone else was heavily medicated on tons of tranquilizers and glued to the television in the recreation area the two of us went into a group room with paper and colored pencils which his family brought to him.

I sat there studying his self-inflicted markings wondering why they trusted he and I with sharp pencils. We turned on a radio and sat at different ends of the table and sketched together.

He drew racing cars and science fiction like cartoons. He was an artist and could sketch near perfect images on paper.

I thought he was absolutely beautiful, so I sat there, looking at the healings wounds on his neck and arms and pretended to be sketching with him. But I only wanted to be in his presence because his spiked hair made me smile and he was really quite beautiful, despite his self-inflicted wounds.

When I looked down at my sketches, I realized they were actually pretty good. I drew him sitting across from me without looking down at my work.

The pencil drifted aimlessly on my paper while I tried to stop thinking about God.

I let the pencil move on my paper as if it were my fingers running across his beautiful face.

I showed my drawing to him. He couldn’t believe how much my artistic skills had improved in only a few days.

“That’s really good,” he said to me.

He grabbed his colored pencils and went away, and never did come back out to play with me in the Coo-Coo’s nest.