3rd and 4th part of the mash with Matthew Watkins & Paul Jarvis ! Click here for the previous ones and more info about this mash.
3eme and 4eme partie de l'échange avec Matthew Watkins & Paul Jarvis ! Cliquez ici pour les deux parties précédentes et plus d'informations sur ce mash.
(Part 3 by Matthew) 200 Channels and nothing to watch
And the related story by Paul:
Pour lequel Paul a imaginé:
Precisely when Stanislaw had blacked out was not clear to him, but he sensed he was now waking into one of the old nightmares. Like when he was in the clinic and they were drugging his porridge.
From somewhere close by, in the dead tones of a hostage imprisoned in an interminable loop, a vaguely familiar voice was repeating the refrain: “Good evening, this is the news. You can’t box up emotion.” Cold-sweating, Stanislaw looked around him. His cartons had morphed into battered TV sets with screens striving primordially to burst into life, and hellish green swamp vapours were rising from the floorless depths of the Box Chamber. He shuddered.
The voice suddenly dissolved into eerie laughter that caused Stanislaw to start. The bad psychiatrist! Terrified now, he looked up, but the face on the screen was not the one he so feared. It belonged to a wild-eyed macaque which, as it caught his eye, broke off its cackling and enquired facetiously: “How you gonna cope wi’ life as a dwarf penguin, man? You got yourself a cool box wi’ fish?”
My response (brushes on iPad):
Ma réponse (brushes sur iPad):
(Part 4) Then, everything got crazy
And Paul's answer:
Et celle de Paul:
Without warning, but just as the good psychiatrist had once predicted it would, the office erupted in a cacophony of noise: glass shattering as words long repressed burst screeching through the screens and broke into a thousand fragmented letters, an escaped Fear Bird squawking in bewildered terror, a beach-hatted figure –whom Stanislaw recognised immediately as his old enemy Sub –baseball batting scarred nursery tunes off the violin he had once loved.
“You locked us away, punk! You locked us away!”
The voice was disconcertingly close, startlingly familiar. Stanislaw turned and gasped in horror, not so much at the sight of the pistol protruding from the screen as at the realisation that the hand holding it was attached to his ten-year-old self.
“Why did you do it, Stani? Did you really think we’d never get out?” The face behind the mask laughed mirthlessly and the hand pulled the trigger. Stanislaw felt his mind and body dissolve away.
Stay tuned ! We're waiting for Matthew's painting !