In the light of the shadow lamp, I saw a giant winged monster, curling in a circle, devouring its own tail. Encircled by the dragon?s body, recessed into the wall, I saw a cross-sectioned view of a factory filled with people the size of the man who spoke to me years ago in the nursery. They were building something with an elaborate system of pulleys and cranes. Their tiny eyes shone like stars through the murk as they worked feverishly. ?Tell me what you see,? demanded Dr. Wood?s disembodied voice from the surrounding darkness. The dragon?s body rippled and unfurled itself, arching towards me through the thick shadows. I screamed. In an instant the light came back, and Dr. Wood looked at me with raised eyebrows.
?What did you see?,? he asked as I shook with fear and shame. I felt that I had already betrayed my one secret moment in life to this stranger and that a secret civilization was upset with me. Perhaps they were suffering because of me, because of my failure to be as special as they wanted.
?Can you draw me a picture?,? he asked pushing a pencil and paper towards me. ?Don?t be afraid,? he said. ?What you saw projected was just a thin slide containing oil and water. The lamp?s heat makes the dark-colored oil move through the transparent water.? The lamp sat dormant on the desk, emitting a thin thread of smoke. I picked up the pencil and began to chew it like an ear of corn, making dents in its pristine surface.
I stayed at the hospital for three years. A gray fear marked the first few months. Then, I progressed to violent hallucination (?mania? they called it). Afterwards, I felt the calm of resignation. I began to have sympathy with my doctors ? began to see them as helpless beings like me. Finally, I hardened into a muted disgust with myself and the institution. During the last year I made a concerted effort to do everything possible to convince the doctors of my rehabilitation. I wanted to get out of that place, so I hid my imagination. Relocated it. I decided to be a straight arrow. Did you know I liked to write poems? Did you know I liked to laze in the afternoon sun and dream epics in my head? Did you know I liked to dream symphonies? Instead, I bent my self to ?real? tasks ? to becoming a lawyer, to learning about business zoning codes and tax law. I grew old and mean. Somewhere in there I got married. Supposedly I fathered some children, a rumor that bred another rumor: that I had strangled the sextuplets on the first night of their lives. Well, if we look at that act as a metaphor, it happened but over the course of years, not a single night. The truth is that I am impotent, and my magical impotence has imposed itself upon the world in strange ways.
I can see the town coming back to life, regaining its senses. The nightmare, for which I am to blame, is ending. I can say that I am glad, but I worry about my fate. If I am caught and brought to bear, what excuse will I offer? I?m afraid I must flee. There are more things to say, and perhaps some day I will return to say them. Perhaps someday I will return and embrace the consequences of my guilt. But now, I see an opening in the labyrinth wall, a way to a bigger freedom than I have ever known. Already, I am running through the woods, breathing clean air.

Goodbye dear sad town,

Your alderman no longer.