Flowers for Algernon

by Daniel Keyes

Mabey they woudnt send me away no more if they see how smart I am.

Now I know what they mean when they say ‘to pull a Charlie Gordon.’ I’m ashamed.

‘The more intelligent you become the more problems you’ll have, Charlie.

‘But I’m not an inanimate object,’ I argued. ‘I’m a person.’

Over the arm of the couch, I caught a glimpse of his face staring back at me through the dark beyond the window – where just a few minutes earlier I had been crouching. A switch in perception, and I was out on the fire escape again, watching a man and a woman inside, making love on the couch. Then, with a violent effort of the will, I was back on the couch with her, aware of her body and my own urgency and potency, and I saw the face against the window, hungrily watching. And I thought to myself, go ahead, you poor bastard – watch. I don’t give a damn any more. And his eyes went wide as he watched.

3rd person

The depressing thing is that so many of the ideas on which our psychologists base their beliefs about human intelligence, memory, and learning are all wishful thinking.

I put Algernon’s body into a small metal container and took him home with me. I wasn’t going to let them dump him into the incinerator. It’s foolish and sentimental, but late last night I buried him in the back yard. I wept as I put a bunch of wild flowers on the grave.

Flowers for Algernon

I wondered if I had ever done anything to justify my mother’s fear. There were no such memories, but how could I be sure there weren’t horrible thoughts repressed behind the barriers of my tortured conscience?

Repression