Mooving On Up

Lifeline too be different or same, I asked Henry. Artist at heart he separated equally 4x4 then crossed out the different non-matching letters and below those letters their position in the English alphabet and handed it back replying with one word Solve.

These are the incoherent mumblings of a madman strapped in a straitjacket in a padded cell in a mental asylum on an island far away from any civilisation. He talked with seemingly imaginary friends, and would yell and scream for no reason. One day, the door to the cell opened up.

The madman sat silent, waiting to see if someone would come through the open door, but no one did. It seemed the door had opened by itself. A breeze from the open door—the first the man had felt in years—caressed his bearded cheek. It smelled of lilacs. Freedom beckoned.

He looked around his padded cell. They allowed him almost no possessions. He put on his rubber shower sandals and wrapped his blanket around his shoulders. All he had, all he needed. He walked through the open door towards the scent of living grass.

And he actually touched some grass, the madman. It was the only thing keeping him sane at this point. The guards did not keep him out of their sight. Those voices approached him again.

They tried a different tactic now. "Eat the grasssss," they whispered. "See how juicy it issss? Once you eat it, you'll gain blisssful forgetfulnesss. EAT!" Later when the supervisor came, the guards could never explain why the madman was in a bovine position, except, he was mad.