Stanislaw Had A Box For Everything – Part 3

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?”

This story, "Stanislaw Had A Box For Everything ", is based on ipad fingerpaintings by Matthew Watkins and Cédric Philippe.
Matthew Watkins:
www.watkinsmedia.com
http://www.flickr.com/photos/matthew-watkins/
Cédric Philippe:
http://cedricphilippe.blogspot.com/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/41631388@N02/.

Stanislaw Had A Box For Everything - Part 2

“One of the boxes is open.” The thought raced back and forth unchecked like a crazed moth across the uncluttered whiteness of Stanislaw’s middle-mind. Seconds, perhaps minutes, passed before – as the good psychiatrist had assured him it always would – the darkness of reason began to exert its calming effect on this latest mental intruder.

“Impossible,” he told himself. “The vacuum-locking system CANNOT fail.” Clutching the table, he blink-breathed to a count of thirty, then straightened up, relief exploding magically in his belly. “Unless…”

Panic-stricken now, Stanislaw pulled the table aside, fell to his knees and wrenched open the door to his Box Chamber. The bad psychiatrist had once punched him so hard in the solar plexus that he had felt like he was drowning in air. This was worse: the hands on the pressure gauge were swinging dangerously towards the vertical, the blue safety lights at the back of the Chamber were out, and there was no sign of life. He felt the hair he no longer had prickle terrified on his head, but there was nothing else for it. Stanislaw slid forward into the dark stillness.


This story, "Stanislaw Had A Box For Everything ", is based on ipad fingerpaintings by Matthew Watkins and Cédric Philippe.
Matthew Watkins:
www.watkinsmedia.com
http://www.flickr.com/photos/matthew-watkins/
Cédric Philippe:
http://cedricphilippe.blogspot.com/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/41631388@N02/.