I can’t believe that I’m writing after all these years. Just when I thought that I forgot how to actually write, I’m writing. I can’t believe my sheer luck that I found this small pencil today, just lying around on the floor waiting to be picked up by me. Most people wouldn’t believe what I had to do to bring it with me to my room; they surely wouldn’t. I had to push the pencil into my anus as far as I possibly could, so that it wouldn’t be found when I’m searched before entering my room. The things people do to keep their sanity. Only if I could ever fully realize that the mere idea of sanity is overrated. They let us keep a personal journal with us but they wouldn’t give us anything to write with and they call us insane.
It is said that the pen is mightier than the sword. It couldn’t be truer in here than anywhere else. I would’ve believed it even if I didn’t see it for myself because when you’re here, you learn to believe in things. Mr. Burns was 47 years old. To us age was merely a number to help us find a way to cope with the fact that we’re living in hell. Well, there might even be a remote possibility that people from down there look up on us and laugh at our miseries. This is how bad things are down here. Let’s get back to Mr. Burns, shall we? He was just another aging person suffering from dementia and had no one to help him through it. He nearly got himself killed several times before deciding to get himself admitted in here only to be killed by his own hands.
His decision to come here was probably the worst decision anyone in the history of human kind has ever made. It was stupider than Hitler deciding to invade Poland. What a prick that Hitler guy was! Mr. Burns didn’t last much long in here. All the sane people have a hard time accepting the fact that they aren’t as sane as they think they are. Mr. Burns found a pen lying in the floor, kind of like me, I guess. I don’t know how he took it with him to his room. If it didn’t involve his anus, I’d surely like to know the method. Anyway, he supposedly pierced his windpipe through the pen and pulled it right across his throat. The pen probably wasn’t as good as a knife but it worked and that is what mattered to him.