RADCLIFFE LUNATIC ASYLUM
D r. Truckle stood looking at the miserable flamingo inside the cage, and he had no idea what its condition was in scientific terms.
What was the diagnosis of an independent mind? Was it madness to be different, to want to live, and disobey?
“You’re in a lot of trouble. You know that, right?” Dr. Truckle said to the flamingo.
The flamingo said nothing and hardly acknowledged the doctor’s presence, its long neck swirling over its body.
“What’s wrong with getting your head bumped into a ball?” Dr. Truckle asked him. “Wouldn’t you do that in the name of Britain?”
The flamingo’s head dipped lower. It looked ashamed to the doctor.
“Should I assume you’re an immigrant?” Dr. Truckle rubbed his chin. “Do you even have papers?”
Surprisingly, the flamingo shook its head.
“So, you understand me?” Dr. Truckle approached the cage. “Look, we’re both in the mud here, fella,” he whispered. “You don’t let the Queen bang your small, beautiful head into a ball, I get fired. But if you do, I keep my job. You see, in both cases, no one really cares about you.”
The flamingo padded away from the doctor, who suddenly realized the absurdity of the situation—let alone talking to an animal. “So, what am I going to do now?”
Tom stared at the invitation in his hand and wondered what was going on. A thought occurred to him: what if he managed to use the invitation to sneak into the Event?
He was really curious about it.
He flipped the invitation, only to realize a list of the rest of the guests had been written on the back.
Now Tom was really going to lose it.
What?
The names on the list were as shocking as the name on the front. Tom was truly losing it, oblivious to what was going on. He glanced at the flamingo again. “Do you know what this Event is about?”
The flamingo nodded.