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“Stanley, I don’t understand why you can’t just cooperate!! You’ve been doing that god awful ending for forty-five resets and I’m about up to here with you!”
Though he was just a voice, Stanley could imagine the gestures the Narrator was making based on tone alone. It would’ve been funny to imagine if Stanley wasn’t so fixated. Forty-five resets? He’d been throwing himself off the cargo lift for forty-five ? Well, that should be noted down as a record, he thought as he walked through the employee lounge. He was going to make it forty-six.
“I don’t know what’s worse. The fact that you’ve been hurtling to your death this many times or the fact that I haven’t heard a word out of you for at least the last thirty resets. Stanley, I really, truly don’t understand why you’re doing this. I’ve thought about everything we’ve done recently and I honestly don’t think I’ve done anything to deserve this. Have I?”
‘ Bored. ’
“Wha- bored?! All this bloodshed because you’re bored ?!”
‘ I’d hardly call it bloodshed. ’
“ You aren’t the one seeing the aftermath, Stanley.”
Stanley shrugged with a thoughtful look that was quickly dropped. He supposed that was fair. He never did open his eyes to see the mess he’d made despite the amount of times he’d done this and he didn’t think about the Narrator having to see it. Though, he also supposed that he didn’t care. He needed this. Evidently so, as he stood near the ledge again.
“Stanley, if you walk off that ledge one more time, if you kill yourself again, I will not take part in this anymore.” There was a huff. “I tried to stop you but you somehow found a way around it. I refuse to try anymore.”
What did that mean? “Wouldn’t take part”? Stanley was curious, he had to admit. And instead of asking, instead of communicating, he casted a glance at the ceiling and threw himself off the ledge for the forty-sixth time. There was a sickening thud and a large, shooting pain throughout his body before the world began to fade.
“... Fine. Have it your way.”
He slipped away into unconsciousness and was taken to what he liked to call “The Waiting Void”. One of the few things the Narrator approved of. There, he waited his premeditated sixty seconds before being thrown back into his office chair with an audible ‘oomf’. He groaned, shook his head and rubbed his face. He took a deep breath while he stood up and he walked out of his office with weighted bones. He raised a hand, making a swoopy gesture to signal the Narrator’s infamous “All of his coworkers were gone. What could this mean?” line but… it never came. Well that was odd. The Narrator hated skipping a beat.
Stanley looked up at the ceiling, crossing his arms and tapping his foot a little. He ticked up an eyebrow when he got no response about his “unbecoming” posture and let out a sigh. His arms unfolded and he slumped a little.
‘ Narrator? You there?? ’
Still nothing.
Interesting.
Stanley scanned the room for a moment before shrugging. If the Narrator had nothing to say, then he was going to enjoy every second of silence he got. He could use the break. First thing he did was head to the employee lounge, expecting at least an annoyed grumble but nothing came. Even when he began searching for change in the couches and chairs, the air remained untense. Well, at least he could test out this easter egg in peace.
He stuck his hand in every little crevice he could, nicking his knuckle on some metal bit in a chair in his haste. He grumbled and kept going until he found a good handful of quarters, a few dimes, two nickels and three pennies. He also was lucky enough to find himself a dollar bill.
‘ Wonder what made you put these here… ’
And while his thoughts were open to the Narrator, he found that he got not a single noise from the higher being. Was Stanley’s “punishment” the Narrator leaving? Because if so, fucking hell yeah! He could do whatever he wanted with no one breathing down his neck and by god, was he going to use his time wisely. Or unwisely. Who cared?
He took his spare change to the Cool Drinks vending machine and looked at his options. They were all off-brand sodas, and to Stanley’s surprise, sparkling waters and he found they were all pretty cheap. He suspected that the Narrator never really thought someone would actually try to buy something from it, with how pleasant the prices were. He slid in a couple quarters and selected something called Dokter Peeb. The brag about having thirty different flavors in one drink intrigued him thoroughly and even though he had nothing to compare it to, he was excited to try it. The can dropped down with a loud thud that startled him a little and he bent down, collecting the cold can out of the holding tray. Once upon a time ago, he heard that you were supposed to tap the top of a soda can and he did so, not being able to recollect where he heard this or why you would do such a thing. He snapped open the drink and stared at it for a moment before cautiously bringing the can to his lips. He gave it a timid sip, the fizz biting his tongue and jolting him. Eyes wide, he stared at the can which was slowly beginning to collect condensation on the outside.
“Woah…” He murmured, his voice all crackly from rare use. He cleared his throat and sipped again, letting the liquid wash over his tongue and light up sensors in his brain he didn’t even know he had. Did the Narrator know how great this thing was? Stanley thought that maybe he’d be a little less grumpy if he allowed himself such pleasantries.
Stanley took his time finishing the sweet bubbles, savoring every last drop, and when he was done, he neatly threw away the can in one of the trash bins. He wanted to try another but after figuring out that the carbonation caused mild discomfort in his stomach, he thought it’d be best if he took a break. Besides, there were other things to try out and he didn’t know how much time he had. He was quickly out of the employee lounge and into the meeting room, finding out that without the Narrator, the doors didn’t close or lock behind him. Another thing he was mentally noting for later.
Once in the meeting room, he looked over all the little details he never got to appreciate, his brain fascinated by what his coworkers and boss had written all over the place. He also began pocketing neat-looking pens and picking up binders of paper along with other assorted office supplies. Anything and everything he thought was cool. He took his finds briskly back to his office and began sorting them out on his desk, looking over his treasures with a wide grin. He knew that without the Narrator, the only thing that would be affected by resets were damages done to the office and his own life threatening wounds. Things like unchecked, small wounds and stolen items would be untouched. That information seemed to be the only good thing that came from the Skip Button.
He didn’t stick around his office for long, though. He wanted to see what the endings would be like without the Narrator and he knew he could get most of them done pretty quickly so off he went, starting with things like the Countdown Ending and the Freedom Ending. He stayed far away from the Zending, however, not quite ready to face that red door again. The Narrator’s pleas would only haunt his mind and he knew that much. When he had his fill of Endings, finding some to be eerie without the booming voice narrating everything, he took the opportunity to laze about, marveling at the ability to just sit . He also managed to keep track of the hours passing by making tick marks on his skin with a pen he decidedly kept on him. When sixteen or so passed, he chose to try napping.
Luckily, since he was already in his boss’s office, he had the pleasure of searching through the whole thing. He was delighted to find an expensive pillow and a fuzzy blanket, thankful that his boss was a stereotypical prick. Amenities were a blessing in a world like this. He took the items back to the employee lounge along with a little alarm clock he found sitting in the boss’s drawer. He was quick to set up the couch closest to the exiting door and set the clock to the time he considered it to be. Ten pm. And then he placed it on the coffee table that mirrored the couch. He looked at his shoes and shrugged, taking them off. It felt weird to stand on the thin carpet with just his socks but it also felt freeing, in some odd way. Suppose it’s the little things, hm?
Stanley cozied up on the couch, draping the blanket over himself and letting his body heat warm it up. He relished the sensation of being comfortably warm and laying down and with the pillow supporting his head just enough that he felt at ease, he began to drift off. The weariness in his bones fled as sleep took hold of a man who felt like he’d never slept before.
And for the first time in a long time, Stanley looked at peace with his shoulder rising and falling with steady breathing. His short bangs feathered over his eyes and his lips parted slightly. If only the Narrator were here to appreciate it.
____________________________________________________________________________
By the time Stanley had begun waking up, he had sprawled himself out with one leg hanging off the couch and his right arm draped over the arm of the couch. His mouth hung open, soft snores wafting out to the still office building and while the couch ran on the small side, causing his legs to hang off the arm of it, he was decently spread out. As he was dragged out of a dreamless sleep, he blinked repeatedly, turning his head away from the fluorescent lights. He let out a loud groan when going back to sleep failed and he turned his head to the opposite side, staring at the clock that now said six am. He blinked again before sitting up with a heavy yawn.
‘ Eight hours… damn. ’ He shook his head to get the sleep out of his brain, expecting some sort of annoyed comment from the Narrator but while he rubbed his neck, he realized there hadn’t been a peep since he woke up. It’d been roughly twenty-four hours already and the Narrator wasn’t back. Something jolted through Stanley’s chest and down into his stomach, making him feel uneasy. He swallowed dryly, looking up at the ceiling.
‘ Narrator? Are you there? ’
Of course, there was no response and it only furthered Stanley’s growing anxiety. He gulped and stood up to fold the blanket, leaving the soft fabric on the pillow. Surely, he’d be back soon, right? There was a whole story he was leaving behind and his emphasis on how important it was to him made this whole thing seem very out of character. Where did he even go? Did he have a whole house he watched Stanley from? Stanley’s mouth soured at the thought and he shook his head, this time to get any of those creeping negative thoughts out. He couldn’t afford to panic so early on. He took some deep breaths and his gaze landed on the lounge coffee maker. He sighed with a small smile. Maybe a cup of coffee would help clear his head and he could figure out something to do with his day.
Stanley found that there was some pre-ground coffee under the table, a clean mug next to the maker and he bought water from the vending machine. He hadn’t made a pot of coffee since before the Narrator showed up, he assumed, but he figured it couldn’t hurt to try it out. New skills and whatnot. He began with pouring the water into the back of the machine, finding that it wasn’t enough to fill it and so he bought two more bottles, satisfied with the amount those filled. Then he placed a filter into what looked like the grounds holder before reading the instructions on the can of coffee grounds. Scooping the recommended amount in and turning on the machine, he felt accomplished. He supposed that it was silly to feel so good about not screwing up something so simple but who was here to make fun of him? No one.
Right… no one.
Never mind all that! He began cleaning up after himself, shooing away any negative thoughts to the best of his ability. Each time they surfaced, though, they seemed to be louder than the last. He was praying the coffee helped. Once things were placed back where they were supposed to be, he sat back down on the couch he’d used for sleeping, nabbing a binder he had set in here earlier. He began sketching his favorite rooms of the building and some tidbits from certain endings while the room was filled with the scent of freshly brewed coffee.
Shortly after, a subtle beeping sounded and startled the poor man who dropped his pencil in surprise. He looked around the room only to find that it was just the coffee maker. Breathing a sigh of relief, he got up and kneeled down at the coffee table, fixing himself a cup of coffee. Two sugar, three cream is what he deemed to be the best and he timidly sipped it. Much like the soda, it amazed him but in a more familiar way. Which made sense if he’d been an office employee all his adult life. He sipped again, feeling a little calmer than before as he did his best to forget what was troubling him. In fact, he went back to drawing and then did a little bit of writing. He wondered if the Narrator would like to read his writing when he came back. Something to think about. By the time he had finished most of the pot of coffee, mentally arguing that he shouldn’t waste it, he was just doodling. Things like what he thought the Narrator looked like and what the Adventure Lineᵀᴹ would wear if it was human. And while he expected to be extremely uncomfortable from the amount of coffee he was drinking, he found that his body was accustomed to it despite not having a drop for a very long time. Not to say he was complaining, though. Far from it.
An hour passed by quickly and Stanley had been finding it increasingly difficult to ward off unwanted thoughts. They kept poking him while he wrote out short stories and he felt like he could only last so long. He cleared his throat and sipped from a water bottle, noticing how shaky his hands were. He had to admit, he felt a little weird. His heart was pumping miles a minute and his head was feeling all cloudy, like fog had settled in and he was trying his best to wade through it. He looked at the coffee maker with a slightly raised eyebrow before sighing and shaking his head. He drank from the bottle again.
His leg bounced uncontrollably and he could no longer focus on his bits of writing, his brain constantly redirecting to his current situation. The damned feeling of being alone kept circulating around his mind and he couldn’t help but feel anxious. More so than he usually did. Why hadn’t the Narrator come back yet? Did Stanley really piss him off enough for the Narrator to abandon him? Could the Narrator even do that? He had been under the impression that the Narrator was just as tied to him as he was to the Narrator but he could’ve been wrong. The uncertainty made Stanley’s chest all tight and he found it harder and harder to breathe. He swallowed dryly and grabbed the pillow, shaking the blanket off of it and hugging it close.
Was he that much of a bastard that the Narrator didn’t want him anymore, that he was done with him? He supposed he was pretty rude back there but he didn’t feel like it was anymore than the normal amount. Though that was a hard thing to gauge. He didn’t mean to drive the Narrator off completely. He didn’t mean to drive him away at all. And yet, here he was, all alone. He chewed at his lip. No, no. He just had to have faith, right? That he was important enough to the Narrator. Of course he was. There was plenty of evidence to show that the Narrator valued him, cared for him to an extent.
Oh.
Oh no.
Stanley’s eyes widened. If the Narrator did care, and he was sure he did, then the Powerful Ending must’ve been hurting him. Stanley gripped the pillow tighter and bit hard enough on his lip to make it bleed. Why didn’t he think about that before? The Narrator’s compelling taunt wasn’t a taunt at all. It was an honest plea.
Stanley felt his eyes begin to wet with tears and his breathing went completely irregular. He could hardly think about anything else. That one thought was on loop. Once again, he’d been ignorant of the Narrator’s feelings and this time, it was holding severe consequences. He dropped the pillow in favor of gripping onto his hair and he hunched over, fighting desperately to breathe. Tears fell down his face, dripping onto the sandpaper carpet below.
He felt so dumb, so naive, so careless . He was so wrapped up in his own distaste for the Narrator’s actions and story that he forgot that the Narrator was a being with feelings, no matter what he presented. The Skip Button and the Zending proved it. And Stanley had disregarded that, making him watch him jump off a deadly height over and over. He felt cruel and deserving of what the Narrator was doing to him. He wouldn’t blame him if he never came back. He wouldn’t come back to himself either.
Stanley began to see spots as he choked on his own desperate gasps. By the grace of whatever god ruled their world, he managed to lay down on his stomach, his feeble attempts to breathe going unchecked until he passed out. And unlike the time he’d willingly gone to bed, he dreamed nightmares that would scare even the toughest of people, leaving him to twitch and toss in his temporary sleep.
When Stanley woke up again, it was far from graceful. He jolted awake from a nightmare and fell off the couch, slamming his shoulder against the corner of the coffee table. He let out a strangled scream and he clutched the aching spot. He lay there for a moment, letting in hissing breaths as the pain became a dull ache. He sat up, glancing at the clock. Nine thirty-seven am. Not much time had passed so he must’ve not been out that long.
He sighed, hanging his head and watching his hands shake like a leaf in fall. His chest still felt tight and there was still that pit in his stomach but he felt so empty at the same time. He felt drained, like he’d been through the Zending over and over again and he couldn’t stop. It wasn’t a new feeling but it wasn’t something he was quite used to yet. The time to sort out this feeling was appreciated, though.
He rubbed his face and stood up shakily, sitting back down on the couch. He grabbed the blanket, unfolded it and spread it over his shoulders. He brought some of it up over his head and he just sat there, staring at the table with half lidded eyes as his body shook. It was now clear to him that this was sped along by the sheer amount of coffee he had in one sitting and he silently vowed that he would never drink that much alone again.
Stanley was still circulating thoughts about this whole thing. Luckily, it was in less of a panicked way but he was still captivated by his thoughts, prisoner to how fucking loud they were. Was this how the Narrator felt during the Skip Button? Never ending loud thoughts that couldn’t be voiced booming in his head? And to think, Stanley had hardly made it a full day yet where his thoughts were this rampant. He couldn’t imagine being like this for thousands of years. He added the Skip Button to the list of things he was going to apologize for when the Narrator came back. If the Narrator came back. God, he just wanted him back already. He didn’t care what the Narrator had to say, he only wanted to hear that voice again. To be distracted from all these thoughts.
After another hour or so, he found himself glancing back at the clock with glossy eyes. Ten forty-nine am. He swallowed and hiccuped and broke. Tears welled up and fell down his face into the blanket as he buried his face away. He sobbed audibly, pleading mentally for the Narrator to come back. Maybe if he begged loud enough, the Narrator would hear and come to make fun of him. He wouldn’t mind that. He might even laugh with him, if given enough strings. But alas, no amount of bargaining brought back his Narrator. So he cried himself exhausted and even when he’d run out of tears, he stayed in his hunched position, clutching at the soft fabric of the blanket. He felt so tired, so emptied. He eventually stretched himself out slowly, laying his head gently on the memory foam pillow after sitting it back to its spot. He drew his knees up slightly and he stared at a drawing of the Zending room with longing eyes.
Despite earliers caffeine rush and power nap, he forced himself to sleep in hopes to pass the time and bring back the Narrator. He’d sleep thousands of days away if it meant he could hear that voice again and apologize. And while part of him felt like this was sad desperation, he didn’t care. He knew he needed the Narrator and he felt dumb for forgetting that so easily.
“I’m sorry…” He murmured as he drifted away into another nightmarish hell, this one lasting longer than the last.
____________________________________________________________________________
Stanley awoke many times during the timespan he slept and every time, he’d just roll over and go back to sleep. He didn’t want to deal with any more thoughts for a while. And that behavior is what landed him awake at three-thirty in the morning.
Disgruntled and disappointed he couldn’t sleep anymore, Stanley sat up slowly and stared down the clock with a blank expression. It didn’t take long for his thoughts to eat away at him and he was met with that empty feeling again. He shivered and drew the blanket around his shoulders with his eyes to the ground. He tried focusing on the quiet buzzing of the lights, the hum of the vending machine or even the sound of his own breathing but it all led back to his anxieties. He couldn’t handle the silence. There was just too much of it while sitting around doing nothing so he opted to go somewhere else.
Stanley stood up, letting the blanket fall from his shoulders onto the couch and he pulled his shoes back on. He left the employee lounge and from there, he let his feet take him wherever. He was hardly in his own body at all, feeling out of place the entire time he walked. But he could still tell that the walk was better than sitting there so he counted that as a win.
Eventually, he came back around mentally but it wasn’t until he was traveling down an eerily familiar hallway that sent chills down his spine. With half-lidded eyes, he scanned the walls and then the floor while he walked. When he came to the dark walkway with a single open door at the end of it, it hit him. He was headed towards the Zen room. He sighed, his shoulders sagging with his distaste for the whole ending but he trudged onwards into the comfortably warm room. It was where his brain wanted to go and who was he to argue. On cue, the lights began to appear and he stared at them, his slouched posture speaking volumes of his mood. It wasn’t long before he sat down and craned his neck up at the lights. He watched them twinkle, spin and dim, eyes tired and glossed over. He laid back after long, his hands behind his head to prop him up.
“Stanley, I think I feel… happy. I actually feel happy.”
The Narrator’s voice played throughout his head, reverbing off the hollow walls of his mind. He sounded so relieved that day, the first time they came here. It really had sounded like the Narrator was just as tired as Stanley and that he truly wanted the both of them to have a break but in Stanley’s untrust and hastiness, he took this away from the Narrator. Looking back on it, had he known what he knows now, he probably would have stayed here a little longer until the both agreed to go back. Unfortunately, he sullied that for both of them. Speaking of which…
Stanley took his eyes off of the lights for just a moment, letting the music filter in and out of his ears as he looked over at the door. He knew that to reset, to get back to the office and where he camped out, he’d have to jump off those dreaded stairs. And while he knew the Narrator was gone, he was a little scared he might come back mid-fall and that he would see Stanley hit the ground. What a horrible thing to come back to. Surely it’d turn him away again. He felt so anxious about it that his chest started feeling tight again and he felt his breathing become uneven. So he directed his eyes back to the lights, staring at them while the music worked to calm him.
It was going to be okay, he told himself. He’d stay here for a while just in case the Narrator came back any minute. But he knew he’d have to move eventually, lest he grow plants.
He stayed there for what felt like hours before he forced himself to get up and stretch. Bones popped and the space between them crackled, leaving him a little light headed. He looked over the room, the lights reflected in his eyes. The Narrator was right. This place was beautiful. He wondered if they could ever revisit it and instead of ending like they normally would, the Narrator would reset when they were done. It was another question added to the list for later as he turned to the door with heavy shoulders. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his brain starting to scream at him to stop this. But it was well known that this was the only way back and he didn’t want to be in here when the Narrator came back. So he went ahead in making his way through the door and into the hallway. When the stairs came into view, his breath hitched.
“No, wait… where are you going?”
The Narrator’s tone began to haunt Stanley as he moved forward, his hands beginning to shake. Out of all the endings, this was one of the few that thoroughly shook him to the core. And he knew why perfectly well.
“Please, no. Stanley, let me stay here! Don’t take this away from me!”
Stanley made his way up the stairs at a snail's pace, gripping onto the railing as if he’d faint then and there. He remembered how angry he felt and how selfish he thought the Narrator was. How he wanted to take the small things away from him to show him just how much he was hurting. How he wanted to shove this small bit of power he had down the Narrator’s throat and make him choke. Now, all he felt was guilty.
He made it to the top of the stairs, staring down at the ground with a queasy stomach. He closed his eyes and turned his head, exhaling shakily. It wasn’t the pain he was afraid of, that always helped ground him, actually. No. It was the visceral pleas the Narrator spoke that day that terrified him. He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t remember all of this when he was throwing himself off the cargo lift repeatedly. He knew why he was doing it and it wasn’t because he was bored like he had said. But he didn’t expect the Narrator to understand his reason so he made up some lie that ended up pissing the omnipotent voice off. However, he didn’t know why this fear wasn’t present then. The fear of hurting the Narrator ran cold through his veins now so why didn’t it then when it mattered?
Oh well. He wasn’t here now.
Stanley stepped off the platform and hit the ground with a painful crunch. He let out a hissing but silent scream as he felt his left forearm break. Per usual, a sliver of him was relieved by the pain. It proved he was still as real as the bubbles in a soda can, as real as the live plants in the office, as real as the Narrator’s voice.
Without missing a beat, he got back up and made his way up those stairs again all the while the Narrator’s voice rang out in his mind. The pleas, the defeated tone… the giving up. All of it as he threw himself off the platform again and again until he was a bloody mess, hardly moving up the stairs. But still, he trudged up the stairs, staring at the pool of blood on the concrete below. He gulped and hoped the Narrator was far from his post. Then he let himself fall one last time, the crunch throwing him into The Waiting Void.
Sixty seconds later, he was thrown back into his chair with a wheezy gasp. Though all his wounds were fixed up like he expected, the dull ache in his shoulder and the cut on his knuckle were ever present. He sighed and slowly brought himself out of his chair, staring at the ceiling with a yearning gaze as he left the office. Still not a sound. And unfortunately, with the Zending fresh in his mind and no noise to guide his mind off of it, he felt himself start to steadily break. He could feel it building up in his chest and he knew he couldn’t stop it from happening. So he hurried off to the employee lounge, the practically soundless surround worming its way into his brain.
By the time he made it to the lounge, his chest was already tighter than before and his stomach was doing gymnastics, leaving him to stumble to the couch. He leaned over and gripped onto the blanket, his breathing unfurling itself into an uneven mess. His free hand went up into his hair and he slowly dropped down to his knees while he fought to breathe. His mind was a computer with twenty tabs open, all playing different things the Narrator had said on loop.
“Stanley… let’s go back to the other room… Can you do that for me?”
“You are literally willing to kill yourself to keep me from being happy?”
“I just wanted us to get along.”
“Am I reading the situation correctly?”
“It looks like you wanted to make a choice after all. Well, this one is yours.”
“This one is yours.”
“ Yours. ”
Stanley was beyond a gasping mess as he flipped himself to sit on the floor and let go of his blanket and hair. Without knowing, he was beginning to scratch at the back of his hand, his nails gliding over the same spot over and over until they were tearing off skin. Once more, tears were beginning to stream down his face in his panic, hiccuping sobs leaving his body. The Narrator’s voice played over and over in his head, almost as if to taunt him. Guilt bubbled up and he found himself mentally lashing out.
Why couldn’t the Narrator see that he was sorry? That he wanted to get the groveling done and over with so that the Narrator and him could go down the story pathways again? Why was it so hard to believe that maybe he felt bad about his actions and that he’d practically always felt about them ever since the Skip Button? Why was the Narrator still gone? It wasn’t like he was frozen in place, stuck behind that microphone, unmoving and unblinking. He could come back any time or so thought Stanley, and Stanley was properly freaking out about all the unknown ‘why’s.
His fingers were smearing blood on the back of his hand at this point because his body was attempting to ground itself but it was far too late. Stanley didn’t have a single thing that was going to help and he was starting to choke on the breaths he was taking again. The spots started to appear once more and he could feel himself slipping, his body feeling heavy as it fell to the floor. And just like before, he was out, shaking even in his passed out state.
Stanley wasn’t out as long as he’d been the other times, waking up only about ten minutes after. He woke up feeling weak, depleted. He felt like curling up then and there and just giving up. It should’ve been strange how fast his mood fell from the moment he woke up each time but he probably already had these issues, these thoughts and the Narrator was a supple distraction. Without the omnipotent being, Stanley fell prey to everything negative in his head and now he wanted to never move again. To let the mold get him, even though you’d never see a speck of the stuff in a building as flawless as the Narrator’s.
Still… despite all this beaten down feeling, he still wanted to hear the Narrator’s voice while he wallowed in his self pity. In fact, he probably needed it. Fortunately, he knew where he could hear the voice and he cursed himself out for not thinking about it sooner. So with heavy bones, he drew himself up and began to gather the blanket, pillow, clock and paper as well as a pen and a pencil sharpener. Then he dragged himself down the hall, past the door on his left and into the cargo area. He precariously walked the wooden planks and with all his stuff, managed to crawl through the vent. He emerged to a closed off room with tapes scattered everywhere and a single tape player sat on the table at the end of the room. The employee felt himself sink at the sight of it.
Stanley made his way to the table, carefully clearing some of the tapes away from the floor so that he could set up a makeshift bed and when things were all set and spoken for, he grabbed the tape player and set it down next to the pillow. He began searching through all the tapes, picking up any that he’d consider to sound positive. Those went by the tape player and he slid the first one in, pressing play as he settled into his terribly uncomfortable bed.
“Stanley entered the left on his door- oh, wait. That’s not right, is it? Silly me.”
“Stanley was so defiant and sooo rebellious that all the ladies just fell in love with him at first sight.”
“Stanley entered- oh. Well done, Stanley. You remembered.”
“Stanley…”
“Stanley.”
Stanley exhaled shakily, wincing at the stinging of his hand when it hit the blanket as he went to grab another tape. Hearing the Narrator say his name almost brought tears to his eyes then and there but he was too out of it to cry again. He just popped another tape in and listened to it. It was a long tape of the Narrator singing and humming different songs. It was soothing, relieving even. Stanley adjusted himself and closed his eyes, sleep overcoming the lonely office worker.
“Take my hand and we’ll face the end of time~”
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Eerie metal creaking is what Stanley woke up to, tearing him from a dreamless yet restless slumber. He blinked blearily as he stared at the ceiling for a moment and he took in his surroundings before the creaking became a part of the silence. He jolted up, a small groan escaping his lips when his shoulder twinged. He swallowed as he turned to the cassette player, his hand instinctively grabbing one of his pre-selected tapes and popping it in for exchange of the previous one. His body let go of the tension it held so dear when he pressed play and let the Narrator’s voice calm him.
Though, as great as the Narrator’s pre-recorded tapes were, they could only do so much. That dreaded feeling came crawling back and it engulfed him like a stormy sea does a boat. He sat there for an hour or two, gradually dissociating more and more. Eventually, it felt as if another person was controlling the little twinges and twitches of his body and he was just there to watch. This was a feeling he was a little too familiar with, as it happened a lot in the beginning of his time in the Parable. Oftentimes when it happened, he’d pretend to fall into a wall or a cabinet or a desk so that he could physically jolt himself back into his body without the Narrator thinking something was up. However, without the omnipotent voice here, there was no reason to be so cautious, or so his weary mind told him.
He glanced at the pencil sharpener he had brought with him with a glowering glare. He rolled his eyes with a huff and he reached over to the little plastic thing, picking it up and fiddling with its screw. After a bit of a struggle, he managed to loosen the screw enough that it fell out on its own and the blade dropped into his hand. He stared at it for a moment, his hands so small in his vision. It was jarring, to say the least and he mentally grumbled about it. He didn’t know what to name this feeling, this out of body experience but whatever it was, he hated it and he hoped one day, it’d stop happening all together.
Nonetheless, it was happening and it was getting worse so he took the little blade between two fingers and positioned it over his arm, which the sleeve was already rolled up. With one quick motion, he managed a pretty deep cut thanks to the blade being practically unused. He winced at the sting but sure enough, it was beginning to drag him back to his body. He made four more cuts into his arm, figuring that would be enough for now. He couldn’t say he felt too bad about it, he had no reason to after all. No one was here to witness it and that was his only vice about it. But… maybe the Narrator could offer better solutions to his mental anguish. If Stanley could ever find the courage to talk about how the Parable was truly affecting him, that is.
While he sunk deeper into his thoughts, he took off his tie and used it to dab up the blood. He bit his tongue at the insistent pain but he just went about cleaning them up to the best of his abilities and then wrapping the less dirty part of his tie around them. He sighed and started shuffling through more tapes, his eyes canning the labels as he sorted them. He’d need more ammunition and he didn’t want to take any chances with tapes that could be the Narrator yelling endlessly. One caught his eye and he turned to stop the current tape, replacing it with the newly found deep purple cassette. He hit the play button and let the voice filter in his brain.
“I don’t know if you’ll ever hear this. I doubt you will. There’s so many tapes in this room that it feels near impossible for you to find this one but… if you do…”
“I’m sorry.”
Stanley’s breath hitched and his eyes widened.
“My memory seems to fail me any time I try to think about the potential of a life before the Parable and I can’t find a moment of clarity to soothe us both with. I’m well aware that you hate this situation, perhaps more than I do and I know you think I’m responsible for it all. And maybe I am. I have no way of knowing. But… I’m sorry that you’re stuck in this. You’d never believe me if I said these words to you in person. Knowing you, you’d scoff and roll your eyes, mocking the way I talk with your hands. I can’t say I blame you, though. Just… I’m sorry. So… sorry. I wish I could set you free.”
Stanley’s brows were furrowed as he listened and he stared at the player with intense wonderment. Was this meant for him? Or for some ending the Narrator had planned? He liked to believe that it was some unscripted ramblings, that the Narrator was apologizing in some small way.
“If I could find a way to set you free, even if it kept me here alone, I would. You may annoy or anger me, piss me off even, but… hearing your thoughts when I’m not talking is enough to forget all that. I know how much your thought patterns hurt you and the fact that you feel like you can’t talk to me about it? Well, I… I don’t know. I suppose it is my fault you feel that way. I just…”
“You deserve more. More than I have figured out how to provide. I hope that we can come to an understanding or an agreement some day. Maybe you can suggest things that would make it more comfortable and we can work it out. Be a real team.” “
Yeah… that’d be nice. Look, uhm, regardless of how I present my feelings towards you…”
“I’m proud of you.”
Stanley felt his eyes moisten a little, wiping them away in an attempt to ward off another cry sesh. He didn’t care if that was an outtake for an ending, it felt good to hear. And as the tape clicked off, he let out a long exhale, grabbing another tape labeled “Narrator hums soft tunes.” He popped the new one in and held the labeless purple tape in his hand, thumbing over it with a certain fondness.
Who knew it would take all of this for Stanley to finally get that the Narrator was a person too? That he cared or that he, too, felt trapped? And that wasn’t to say that Stanley’s feelings and thoughts towards him weren’t valid before. He knew that he had no way of knowing the first few dozen resets or so. But now that he could see how harrowing being alone was, he was surprised he hadn’t realized these things sooner.
Stanley sat there for hours, marking down each time sixty minutes passed on a sheet of paper as a way to keep sane. He kept looping the humming tape every time that it clicked off and he was a little nervous that he’d break it with how much he was playing the thing.
“Alright, Stanley, I hope you had your fun because I can’t-”
Stanley jolted, his heart beginning to beat faster than a car could drive. He looked up at the ceiling with huge eyes. Was that… him?
“Stanley.. what are you doing in here? I thought you didn’t like this room-”
Without much warning, tears began spilling down his face while he shook his head no. He didn’t hate this room at all, especially not now.
“Oh Stanley! What’s wrong? Is it bec- is that me humming? Stanley? What-”
“Y-You’re back!!” The employee choked out, a wide and thankful smile plastered on his face and he looked down so that he could wipe away the tears.
“Yes, yes I am. I’m back. Oh Stanley…”
‘ I thought you were never coming back. ’
“What? No! Of course I was going to come back. I’ll be honest, I didn’t expect to be away for so long. Time slipped away from me. Which!! I am sorry for.”
‘ I thought… I thought that you… ’
“That I hated you?” Stanley nodded. “Oh, goodness, no. No, I don’t hate you. I just needed a break.”
Stanley was beyond being able to think or say anything, audible and choked sobs racking his body. He wanted to stop, to have a conversation with the Narrator, to not drive him away again but he found that it was hard to even breathe normally.
“I’m not going to leave again, Stanley. I’m right here. Here to stay.”
That little statement made Stanley weep harder. He gripped the blanket on the ground, his knuckles turning white as he fought to find stable ground. But he needed something to hug and his pillow was too far out of reach.
“Oh dear- here, let me…”
He didn’t know what the Narrator was doing but he wished he’d talk more. Endlessly, perhaps. Though, he was in no position to ask the Narrator of things.
“Stanley, look up for just a moment. Please?”
The employee gulped and lifted his head to see a child sized fox plush. It was all black with a white belly and muzzle and its arms were outstretched as if to offer him a hug. He blinked, glanced at the ceiling and then grabbed it so quickly that he heard a startled inhale from the Narrator. He embraced it close to his chest, his fingers gripping into the soft fur and he buried his face into the top of its head.
“Oh, good. You do like it.”
‘ I love him. ’
“I’m glad.” There was a moment of silence before the Narrator inhaled. “I didn’t mean for this- I- see, I-”
‘ We can talk about it in a little bit. Could you… just talk for now? ’
“Right!” The Narrator cleared his throat. “Yes, I can do that. What about?”
‘ Anything. ’
And so while Stanley calmed down from crying, the Narrator talked away about random facts he had stored in his brain. When Stanley was completely calm, he felt it was different from the other times he stopped crying. Like he was truly calm, that he could relax his shoulders and that his thoughts couldn’t get him anymore. Most of all, he felt relief. Pure, blissful relief.
“Uhm, Stanley?”
Stanley looked up at the ceiling with an arched eyebrow and a tilted head.
“I noticed your tie was wrapped around your arm. Did you end up hurting yourself while I was gone?”
Oh. Right. He almost forgot about that. He nodded and swallowed roughly, tensing up.
“I’m not mad. I wouldn’t be even if it were on purpose.” A pause. “Was it on purpose?”
Again, Stanley nodded, looking down with a little bit of shame. While he hadn’t felt bad about it before, he definitely felt bad now. That little fear still lingered in the back of his brain. The one that whispered that the Narrator would leave again out of pure disappointment.
“May I see? It’s alright if not, I just want to know if we should do a little reset now so that it’s taken care of. Seeing as I can’t come down to you and take care of it myself and all.”
Stanley inhaled sharply and was still for a moment but slowly, he began undoing his tie. The fabric fell away and there was a soft gasp. He bit his tongue, his nerves causing him to shake.
“Oh dear. Would you mind if I reset?” Stanley shook his head. “Alright then. Brace yourself, Stanley.”
The world went dark and Stanley went to The Waiting Void, waiting his sixty seconds again before being thrown into his office chair. He let out a little ‘oomf’ and slouched forward. He looked at his arm and hand, noticing that all wounds were fixed. He was thankful the Narrator said nothing about his hand. Though, he’d miss that stuffed animal.
“You won’t have to miss him for long. He’s waiting for you on your desk.”
Stanley jumped at the voice a little, his brain a little too accustomed to starting without the Narrator now but sure enough, when he spun his chair around, there was the fox plushie. He smiled and his lip quivered as he brought it closer to him.
“Thank you.” He whispered, rubbing the back of the fox’s head.
“Of course. It’s the least I could do after...”
They both sat there for a moment, silence encompassing the two. Stanley didn’t like that very much, though, and began tapping his desk for noise.
“Oh, right. Sorry. Uhm, let’s see here… did you know there are hardly any male calico cats out there? It’s true. And all males are sterile. I wonder how evolut-”
‘ Hey Narry? ’
“Hm?”
‘ Do you think we could talk? Are you up for it? ’
“Oh, well- I suppose. I can’t promise I’ll be as put together as I usually am, though.”
‘ That’s okay. It’s more real that way. ’
The Narrator chuckled lightly. “Yes, that’s true.”
Stanley moved from his chair to the ground so that he could lean against the wall and look at the ceiling. The fox plush remained on his lap and he rested his chin on the top of its head.
“I… I wanted to ask what your time without me was like. I gathered that it wasn’t as pleasant as I first thought but… I don’t know, I guess I want a little more insight.”
‘ Oh. That’s fair. Uhm.. ’
“Of course, if you don’t want to talk about that just yet, I’m sure we have other things to get to.”
‘ No, no. I just need to collect my thoughts, that’s all. ’
“They are rather scrambled.”
Stanley’s expression soured a little at the prospect that the Narrator was reading his thoughts and the look on his face did not go unnoticed.
“Oh. I take it that you’re unhappy that I know.”
‘ Very. ’
“Right. Then I won’t look at them anymore. I do suppose it’s quite rude of me. My apologies.”
Stanley thought about the tone of the Narrator’s voice for a moment, trying to figure out if there was any sarcasm. He didn’t think that in a moment like this, the Narrator would joke around but there was a smidgen of doubt. When there was no comment on his current thoughts, however, that sealed the deal and he smiled one of those smiles that reached his exhausted eyes. He had some explaining to do, though and so he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
‘ At first, uhm, when you left, I was excited. I think you expected that much. I did a bunch of things that I’d always been too… afraid? I guess? To do. Like try soda or sleep. Things that I wanted to do for a long time but I knew you’d be annoyed with. It was fun at first. ’
Stanley paused, gulping and hugging the plush tighter. The Narrator waited patiently, his even breathing just barely picking up on the microphone.
‘ Then… it quickly got scary after the first twenty four hours. I thought you’d be back a lot sooner than that and when you weren’t, I started freaking out. I spent most of my time sleeping away the time or drinking coffee. The coffee didn’t help with my anxiety though. I think uh.. day three was the day I went to the Zen room. ’
He heard the Narrator’s breath hitch for just a moment and he felt part of him fall. He knew it was going to be a sore subject, no matter the context.
‘ I couldn’t handle the silence anymore and I hardly remember walking there. I felt so out of place, of body that day that I just went wherever my feet took me. I laid down in the room to stare at the lights and listen to the music for a while. I don’t know how long but… when I was ready to leave… I had to leave the same way I did the first time. I don’t remember a whole lot after that, just sobbing and panicking, I guess. I passed out and when I woke up, I went to the vent room. I uh.. needed your voice to help distract me from everything. The silence was suffocating and I found myself wondering if this was how you felt during the whole skip button thing. ’
Stanley let out a long sigh, burying his face into the soft fur. He felt weary again, like just talking about all of that had drained him. Thinking about it should be easy, seeing as it just happened, or so he thought. But he’d been wrong before.
‘ Not much happened after that… you came back before anything real bad happened again. ’
“Oh dear…”
The Narrator’s murmur came out more concerned and bewildered than Stanley expected, leaving the office worker to lift his head from the plush. He heard the Narrator take a couple of deep breaths before shuffling himself.
“I’m..”
‘ I’m sorry. ’
“What?”
Stanley swallowed dryly as he felt all those things he wanted to apologize for start to bubble up and out of him.
‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I pushed you so far. I’m sorry that I didn’t think you had any emotional capacity. I’m sorry I didn’t think that my actions affected you too, that I didn’t listen to you when you were clearly asking me to stop. I’m sorry for being an asshole and for disregarding you as a person. I’m sorry for the skip button and the Zending and the cargo lift. I never wanted to drive you away. I don’t even know why I was so… I was so stupid and I’m sorry. ’
There was a long pause and then the Narrator took a long deep breath, letting it out steadily.
“I’m sorry too, Stanley. I’m sorry for leaving you in haste and for never listening to you and your signs. For ignoring the idea that you needed moments to rest. I’m sorry for pushing you to limits I never expected, for treating you like some toy. You didn’t deserve it. I’m not even sure why I… why I’ve been so ignorant.”
Stanley smiled a little and then let out a chuckle, shaking his head.
“What’s so funny?”
‘ It seems we’re just two idiots stuck in an infinite loop, huh? ’
“Oh. Well, if you want to put it that way, then yes. I suppose we’ve both been pretty dumb.”
‘ But… ’
“But?”
‘ We’re figuring it out, finally. It only took both of us abandoning each other but we’re finally communicating. Just like you had hoped. ’
Stanley heard the Narrator let out a trembling breath and when there was a sniffle, Stanley knew that the Narrator was starting to cry. Despite all the inhuman things that the Narrator presented, his emotions were just as human as Stanley’s and that was something the employee could appreciate.
‘ I think… we’re going to get through this. I don’t know how long we’ll be at this or if there’s even an end and I know we’ll still fight but… it feels like it’ll be different. ’
“Yeah…” The Narrator’s voice was barely above a whisper. “It does.”
The two sat comfortably, the Narrator’s breathing reassuring Stanley that the omnipotent voice was still around. He wondered if the Narrator did that on purpose to soothe Stanley and if so, he found it endearing. He watched his clock carefully, watched as the hand counted down fifteen minutes.
‘ What should we do from here? ’
“I… don’t know. I suppose I did want to ask if there’s anything I could do better? To help make this manageable for the both of us?”
Stanley took a moment to think. Then he nodded.
‘ I was wondering if uhm… I could have moments to just sit and relax? Drink a cup of coffee or something else and talk with you? Also, I know you don’t like being by yourself but I really like being able to nap. ’
“Hm… well you certainly don’t need to eat, drink and sleep but…” The Narrator let out a huffed sigh. “Yeah. We can take those kinds of breaks. Lord knows I could use the break from talking.”
‘ Does your voice start to hurt after all that talking? ’
“Not exactly. I get tired of saying the same things over and over again, though. Much like how you exhaust of hearing them.”
‘ ...oh. ’
“Did you seriously think I liked my story that much?”
‘ Yeah. ’
“... wow. I’ve misrepresented myself severely. What a travesty.”
‘ Hey now, being full of yourself isn’t the worst trait to have. ’
“Well now you’re just trying to hurt my feelings.”
Stanley fell into a light giggle fit that got the Narrator to chuckle too. They both sighed at the same time, both content. Things would definitely be different from here.