That evening all the television stations played the same series, inevitably captivating, not because of the subject matter, but due to the sensational technical process that now allowed the viewer to become embedded in the screen, thus not only experience the well-conveyed events through the image, but with the whole of the sensory apparatus.
Through a supplement to the viewer’s subscription he was even able to intervene and to influence the script in whatever way he wished, according to the added-on possibilities. For the full price he also had, listen to this, the chance to be physically involved and to be directly aware of the amputations carried out in a field hospital, the evacuations that took place whilst being bombarded, the death of his neighbour on the adjoining stretcher, in short, the whole works. For souls who are too sensitive, the latest feature that has just come out, enables one, while staying in the armchair of one’s lounge room, to become splattered with blood, urine or other excrements in the middle of specific odours. But, in this case, if you have a dog you will have to lock it up in the cellar because it usually starts howling.
Of course programme accidents can happen and certain people who entered the screen never came out again.
The directors of the TV channels saw this coming and gave prior warning to the families: “That’s life”, they said, “That’s life”, without however specifying if this is due to the multiplication of possible identifications imagined by the talent of the screenwriter, or rather implies the condemnation of a unique role that is decidedly mortal.