56K, 630 x 520, 1983. Felt pen and acrylic and ink, 14 x 17". By Chris Wayan
I'm invisible, watching an elementary class. The students and teachers all treat one child as weird and wrong. No wonder: the kid's a genius, and seems to be telepathic.
One day, the strange child finds a curtain of cobwebs at the back of the room and brushes them away, idly cleaning up more than trying to get through to anywhere. But behind the web lies a mirror, and that hides a dim red-lit room from which you can see classrooms monitored, on all sides. A spy room, a room where you can see everything in the school, every story...
Every paranoid's dream come true! Except this spy-room is empty.
Until now. Until the genius child... and invisible me.
The genius child and I now actually see the wild horses out the door, and the child becomes Ponyboy (or Girl, I couldn't tell) and runs out to join them.
And now I'm Pony Child, running, flying through the desert with my friends. I had a few moral qualms about doing this--we run so fast, we might trample someone, or knock them down. But seeing just how big and empty the desert is, I feel better. Only a kid with a hyperactive brain worries about such unlikely things! Everyone can see us coming and get out of the way...
I think the spy-room where you're godlike, seeing all... is my own skull. My soul. But no one's there monitoring!
The rooms full of stories are my dreams...
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