Why am I always looking at life through a window?

I put Algernon's body in a cheese box and buried him in the backyard. I cried.

I am afraid. Not of life, or death, or nothingness, but of wasting it as if I had never been.

I was her bestist pupil in the Beckman School for retarted adults and I tryed the hardist becus I reely wantd to lern I wantid it more even then pepul who are smarter even then me.

Only a short time ago, I learned that people laughed at me. Now I can see that unknowingly I joined them in laughing at myself. That hurts the most.

I may not have all the time I thought I had.

How can I make him understand that he did not create me? He makes the same mistake as the others when they look at a feeble-minded person and laugh because they don't understand there are human feelings involved.