One-shot for One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest by Ken Kesey, originally a high school English project.

If you haven't read the book, all you need to know is that the setting is a crazy ward run by the Big Nurse (Ratched). It also helps to know what post-traumatic stress is.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

There's Nothing Left

"Where am I?" the thought fills my mind as the lady holding my hand opens the door for me to reveal the room beyond it.

White. That is the first thought that comes to mind when I step into the unfamiliar room. White walls, white floor, even white furniture fills the—what's it called? I frown, trying to remember. Lobby, yes, that's it—lobby. The place smells like a hospital. Everything is clean and smelling of alcohol, but even that cannot hide the sour underlying stench of the sick.

My previous question is instantly replaced. "Why am I here?"

"Well this looks nice. Doesn't it?" The woman turns around. Her eyes are red and puffy like she recently had a good cry, but otherwise her young face is beautiful. I recognize that face, Krisa, my Krisa. Why did I not realize that she was right in front of me?

"Krisa," I say, reaching to touch her face. Immediately, the young woman's brave smile melts away and her eyes well up with tears. I suck in my breath; I want to take back my words. Did I say something wrong? "Don't cry, Krisa."

Tears spill down her cheeks despite my words. "Daddy," the woman says quietly. "I'm Melissa. Mom died four months ago. Don't you remember?"

Her words confuse me. Then, suddenly my head explodes with pain. Images flash through my mind. A phone call; a smashed car; shattered glass; Krisa sleeping in a black box; the lid closing over her pale, beautiful face. Why are they packing away my wife?

My eyes refocus on the face in front of me. "Krisa," I repeat, this time without the uncertainty in my voice. This is my wife.

The woman opens her mouth again, but before she can answer, a voice interrupts her.

"Welcome." The voice echoes strangely off the walls. We turn to see a woman. She is rather small, which surprises me that such a loud voice could come from someone as small as her. She is dressed as a nurse. White. Her mouth and nails look blood-red and out of place in this white world. As I continue to stare she seems to grow, filling the whole room with her presence. She suddenly turns her gaze on me, and I feel guilty. Her look feels almost motherly, like she was telling me to mind my manners. I look away like some troublesome child told it is rude to stare.

"Ms. Ratched, I presume." My Krisa extends her hand to the woman in white.

The nurse takes out a file from the basket and scans it. "Miss Thompson. And this must be our new patient." She takes Krisa's hand and turns to me. I study the hand in front of me. White. Smooth. Flawless. What's with this place and white?

When I don't shake the hand, Krisa apologizes for me, "He's not feeling himself today, Ms. Ratched. I'm sorry if he gives you much trouble."

"It's quite all right, Miss Thompson. I understand that this year has been hard for you I assure you that leaving your father here will be the best thing for you and him." Ms. Ratched smiles at me, but something's wrong. The smile looks fake, like the corners of her mouth are being pulled by strings. The smile never reaches her eyes. I involuntarily take a step back, trying to escape her cold gaze. Her eyes take note of my movement as if she's recording it to be filed away somewhere in the back of her mind. "You have gone through all the procedures"—the nurse turns her attention back on Krisa—"The staff has already taken his few belongings to his new room. All that is left are your good-byes."

My mind is confused. What's going on? What is this woman talking about? "Krisa?"

Krisa turns towards me and I see she has been crying this whole time. "Daddy, it's me Melissa, your daughter. Mom's gone, Dad. You're not thinking clearly. You need to be here for a while," she says slowly, so I don't miss a word. She kisses me on the cheek. "I'll visit as often as I can." She turns and walks quickly away, her steps echoing eerily off the bare walls.

"Krisa? Krisa!" I try to follow, but the nurse's hand closes around my wrist. The hand feels smooth and cold against my skin. Underneath the white perfect hand, I feel iron as it locks around my arm, holding me in this place like chains.

"We will have none of that, Mr. Charlie Thompson," the nurse's voice says in my ear. Her tone still has that sugary sound to it like she's talking to a child, yet beneath it lies a hint of a threat. I struggle in vain and watch as my Krisa walks away, leaving me in this white world.

I wake up, sweating. I want to scream, but I can hear one of the black boys walking outside my door as he checks on all the patients. Screaming will only cause them to notice me, and that's the last thing I want. The sheets that the black boys used to tie me into bed are suffocating me. The tightness reminds me of the nurse's grip. I can't breathe! For a moment, I panic. The black boy is coming closer, making his rounds like some security guard, and I still my movement until he passes by. I lay back, remembering my nightmare. Krisa. How long have I been here? A few months? One year? Ten years? It's impossible to keep track of time in this place. The nurse controls time, controls the routine, controls everything in this place. But this dream awakened something I haven't felt since I came to this place. Life. Krisa. I have to get out of this prison.

Everything about this ward is airtight. Nothing comes in or goes out without the nurse's consent. All the windows are barred. The only place I can possibly escape through is the lobby. The lobby. I have not seen that place since I first came here. No bars. Perfect. White. It's a disguise, like the nurse's face. A mask, hiding the true nature of this prison, but it may be my only way home; the windows there have no bars, no restraints.

Home. I make up my mind. I must find Krisa again. I have to escape, find her, and make sure she's okay. I remember how Krisa cried the day she left me here. She didn't want to leave me here; I know it. The Big Nurse made her. My mind is made up. I have to find her.

The next week drags past me as I ready my plans and wait. Each day blends into the next, fading into the monotone background of how everything is run around here. On the second day of my wait, the whisperings start. The nurse turns them on with the regular music through the speakers from time to time. Small whisperings come at first, just barely audible beneath the music, but then getting louder and louder. The whisperings are driving me crazy, making me want to break out sooner, but I wait. Sometimes I'm close to panic, fear gripping my heart. Other times I allow myself to be pulled along in the schedule, barely aware of my surroundings, letting Big Nurse's routine control my life. Only one thing is keeping me sane: Krisa.

When the day finally arrives, the world is going in slow motion. The whisperings are louder than ever now and playing even when the music is off. My feet hardly respond as I force myself out of my bed. The whisperings are pounding in my temples. Krisa, Krisa, Krisa, I chant over and over in my mind, which does little to drown out the noise. The walls are pulsing along with the whisperings. This place is driving me crazy.

"Good morning, Mr. Thompson." I turn around to see Nurse Ratched coming towards me. The same fake smile is plastered on, frozen in place. A wolf in sheep's clothing. She's saying something else, but I cannot hear her over the whisperings, so I nod to her and shuffle out of her way, not wanting to get any nearer that I already am.

The slowed time allows thoughts and fears to fill my mind. I go over my plans again and again. Every time I think of my plans, Nurse Ratched's face appears in my head. It's not the face I always see in the hallways; it's twisted and cruel with an evil smile replacing the painted one; it's the face I know lies underneath. Fear again washes over me, and I call myself a fool for even thinking of escape, but then I remember Krisa. I can't let Krisa down.

The other patients move past me, all in the slow way like they are wading through water.

Two of the black boys are walking towards me, unaffected by the slowed time. I move to avoid them, but it is too late. One of them sneers at me, "Hey, Charlie! Just saw your Krisa. Says she's goin' to leave you here. Don't care about you no more."

I know that's not true. Krisa would never do that, but it hurts to hear them talk about my Krisa that way. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, and I brush past them as if I never heard a word. I see Chief Bromden, holding his broom like always. For a moment, I envy his deafness. He's locked away in his own world, unaware of the verbal abuse dealt out by the black boys.

The day pasts by as any normal day, except for the pounding in my temples and the constant fear of failure. Krisa, Krisa, Krisa, I chant.

We have all finished our evening meals and watch the clock until it is time to leave. Nurse Ratched comes in and says something. Because of the whisperings, I might as well be as deaf as Bromden, but I know it is time for our pills. We all make our way to where a little nurse is passing out cups and water. I look at the two pills sitting there in my cup. One white. One red. The red one is the one I need to avoid; it will knock me out as soon as I fall asleep, and I need my mind sharp in order to escape. I easily down the white pill and stare at the red one.

"One more pill, Charlie," the little nurse says.

I stuff the pill under my tongue, trying desperately to act natural. I swallow the water and begin to walk away, expecting the little nurse to call me out and force the pill down my throat, but she merely turns her attention to the next patient. I realize that I was holding my breath, and I let it out slowly. The pill is already dissolving in my mouth. The flavor fills my mouth, tasting like acid. Once I am in my room I spit out the pill and try to get the nasty feeling out of my mouth.

The black boys come around, giggling together like they had just shared a private joke. The biggest of them comes up to me, ties me into bed, and says, "Sweet dreams, Charlie. Perhaps your Krisa will visit you tonight."

The lights are turned off, beginning the longest wait of my life in absolute darkness. I have to wait until everyone is asleep, excluding the one black boy that would be continually checking on us during the night. I had chosen the night where the biggest black boy would be the one checking us. He is the strongest and most formidable of the black boys, but not as sharp minded as the rest. The night drags on. Nothing can tell me how long I have been here in my bed. I try listening to see if I could hear any of the other patients' breathing, but even the loudest snore is drowned out by the whisperings.

When I believe that I have waited long enough, I untangle myself from the sheets and sneak out into the hallway. My steps sound loud in my ears, and I'm surprised the black boy does not come running at sound of my pounding heartbeat. Perhaps his hearing is also affected by the whisperings. I turn a corner and look down the hallway, half expecting the Big Nurse to be coming down towards me with a scowl twisting her doll face, but nothing appears. I had never really paid attention to how long the hallway is, but now the walk seems like an eternity because for every step I took the hall seemed to grow another foot. The whisperings pulsed along with my own heartbeat, telling me to turn back and return to my bed, telling me that Krisa no longer wants me. I ignore them and push the door in front of me open to reveal the lobby, the place where Krisa left me in the hands of the nurse.

I step into the room and close the door quietly behind me. The moment the door clicks shut, the whisperings are muted. I guess the nurse made this room sound proof, so that visitors would not be chased away by the whisperings. There is a slight ringing in my ears, but the silence makes me relax a little, but I'm still trapped.

I go to the door and push. The door is locked as expected and I turn my attention to the windows on either side of the door. Unlike the windows in our rooms, these have no bars in front of them. I touch the glass, and the cold creeps up my arm. I look out, but all I can see is darkness.

I grab the chair closest to me, grunting at the unexpected weight of the chair. I nearly drop the chair because of my sweaty, trembling hands. I study the window, trying to decide the best way to hit it.

Suddenly, I feel a hand grabbing me and the chair clatters to the floor. I swing my arms around in a panic and catch the black boy in the face by surprise. Fear seizes my mind as I stare at the black boy holding his hand to his cheek where I hit him.

Angry and face stinging from my attack, the black boy slams his hand down on the back of my head, sending an electric shock through my body.

I blink the black lights from my eyes and I see Krisa standing in front on our house, waving to me. I smile back at her. Everything's all right, everything is as it should be, except… I can't see her face. It's almost as if some dark cloud hangs over her face, hiding it from my view. I try to get a better view of her, but she turns around and slides into the car while telling me she will be home from work at six. Lights explode in front of my face and I shut my eyes against the harsh glare. I can hear a horrible screech as someone slams down on the car breaks, but it's no use. A heartbeat later, a crashing sound echoes through my mind. When I open my eyes, I see broken glass littering the ground. Smoke pollutes the fresh morning air. I am running towards the smoke; my breath is coming out in short fearful gasps, but I'm too late. I see the medics place my wife on a bed. I'm surrounded by white again, which is an awful contrast to the filthy sight before me. I stare at her body, broken, bloody, marred beyond recognition. Melissa is there beside me, tears streaming down her face. She throws her arms around me and buries her face in my chest in an attempt to block out the horrible scene. I try to comfort her, but what can I say? Everything's going to be alright? Don't worry? Krisa's gone. There's nothing left.

My head clears, and I see the nurse has arrived, flanked by black boys like a personal guard surrounding their general. She says something, but the whisperings have filtered in through the open door, and I am deaf again. The black boys grab at my flailing arms, all the while giving me wolfish grins and spitting insults into my face.

The nurse stabs a needle into my leg, but by then I am already limp. The fight has drained out of my body. As the numb feeling spreads throughout my body, taking it hostage, I try to focus my mind on Krisa's face, but it's gone. Krisa's gone, has been for years now. There's nothing left. Krisa, Krisa, Krisa, I chant, but all I can see is the nurse's face looming over me, the mask stripped off to reveal the face I always knew she had, and I welcome the darkness that engulfs me.

There's nothing left worth fighting for.