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Stanley thought life was odd if you felt the need to question your own existence. If you weren’t real, you wouldn’t be able to wonder if you were real because being real meant having a conscience. And he definitely had one of those. A loud one at that.
This stream of thoughts had entered his head for his last route, and stayed stubborn till the very end. He entered the left door, pushed the off button, went down the elevator, into the mind control power room, into his boss's office, and then he escaped.
“Stanley..?”
They stopped after he reached the two doors again. He entered through the right door. Maybe he was feeling a bit rebellious today, although he felt a little adrenaline from the choice itself. But after a moment on the lift he decided to go back to the meeting room because he forgot he was here to look for his missing coworkers, and if he didn’t go he would never find out what happened to them.
He went left again, maybe there was something more he was missing. He kept having to choose to go left a lot, and would always choose left next time because if he didn’t maybe… something would happen. He forgot what. Bad karma might as well be a death sentence. Do as you are told.
When Stanley reached two doors, he went into the door on his left.
“What are you—?”
Warm trickle down from his head. Stanley thought, maybe it was the good karma finally getting to him, he was in a warm embrace of the feeling he didn’t quite recognize. Actually, he didn’t recognize anything at the moment.
He blinked, or that's what he felt like was supposed to happen.
Stanley went up the stairs to his boss's office.
Why were his thoughts so loud today? I’m doing what I need to do, why are you so loud? Am I forgetting something?
Oh right… I have a wife. Right. She needs me to pick up groceries on the way to work.
He stepped forward but he didn’t seem to make any progress.
Now he was starting to get scared, why was everything so muffled? Where was he? He was just in the room with a red and blue door a moment ago, if he could just—-
“STANLEY.”
He didn’t remember wearing red pants or a red shirt. The carpet was red too. Did the company decide to change the uniform maybe? The layout? A new design is what he finally landed on. Red is the new orange he heard once.
All of Stanley’s coworkers were gone. What could it have meant?
That’s right! His coworkers. He walked forward but seemed to struggle a bit, so he leaned on the wall for some support. It wasn’t even an hour into his shift and he felt dizzy! His mouth was also dry, and his head throbbed with an ache.
Maybe I’m sick? He thought that was no good, because he was just about to get groceries for his wife. She’ll get mad again.
…She’ll get mad again? Hold on, why am I still in the office? I thought I was just about to leave? What is—- his hands were red as well. Maybe he really was sick. Really sick. But he was sick because he is real, and not because he was fed information to believe he was real.
He refused to accept anything else. He had a wife that needed groceries. He has a very loud voice in his head. Nobody fake would have a loud voice in their head.
“Stanley, you— You stop it this—!”
Me? What am I doing? I’m doing as I’m being told, right? Good karma? Who is that anyways? Not a voice I’m familiar with.
My head really hurts, what am I doing? Where am I? I’m at the office doing… Work. Supposed to be. But his coworkers never showed up so he went to go look for them. He was just on his way to his boss's office, so why didn’t he make any progress?
“Stanley, come back to me! What are you doing to yourself!? Put that down Stanley—- Stanley!”
Something came up his throat. Words, he first thought, but it seemed his insides were also painted red as he was able to note when he projectile liquid onto the floor below hunched over. Suddenly the ache was in his stomach as well.
He was surprised to hear that he was in pain, he couldn’t even feel anything on his hands, much less inside his own body. Why was that anyways? Stanley was starting to get concerned, like something was very off but he couldn’t see it. He tried blinking again, but realized that the reason he couldn’t is because his eyes were closed.
He tried to pry them open, but it felt as though his body was acting different from his mind. Everything still felt muffled though, so maybe that was a sign that he really was sick.
He felt his head try to lift itself, but it still hung low. He was trying to say something, but he felt his own body was rejecting him. Why?
”I haven't done anything wrong, have I?”
“Stanley! Is that you? I heard you for a second— Just— Stop! Stop what you're doing! I’ll help you just stop… hurting yourself!”
What… Where…
It was like dark veils layered over his mind made him drift between a conscious state and a semi-conscious one.
What was going on? Why did his coworkers disappear, what did his wife need from the store, is he supposed to go left or right? This is the real world, right?
No, suddenly the phrase real world felt wrong, and he also was able to tell the placement of the Uline blade wrapped tightly in his palm was also wrong. He felt an open stripe of cool office air flow from his chest down to his gut.
He blinked this time, his previously dulled senses steadily raising back to a balance with his mind that let him smell, see, and hear everything that was actually happening. At least he had hoped this wasn’t another haze of his mind.
He was also slowly realizing he was in the first office space in the game. His head was hanged towards his own body, seeing the image of fragments he saw earlier.
He also looked up to see a very large hole in the wall that he was leaning on. He noticed inside the hole was more blood than healthy.
“Stanley? Is that you? Your thoughts are becoming more coherent again, is it…? Oh goodness… You got blood everywhere Stanley… This isn’t good, this isn’t good…”
This voice. That was the… The Narrator. Right. He is in a story right now— A game. What happened—
Another wave of blood climbing up his throat halted all of Stanley’s thoughts as he hunched over to hack it up. It was less than the previous wave, but the pool below his shoes were starting to become so thick that you couldn’t even begin to tell what’s under it.
He heaved heavy breathes as his legs started to weaken, the dizziness climbed in his muscles and gravity started to pull him down.
He coughed and coughed at some point, time was so thick and heavy it was starting to become blurry and unreadable. He noticed an unusual silence from The Narrator. Why doesn’t he reset? Stanley might die, and he’s probably just starting doing nothing.
“I can’t do that yet, Stanley. I can’t risk… That again. I don’t know…”
That? Stanley felt his whole body pulse in pain as sweat started to double in its stream down his temple. He felt his hands start to shake and he eventually dropped the knife, not even thinking where it came from first.
He felt dry. Like he was continuing to lose something that was falling right past him. He fell to his ass, but even that pain didn’t compare to the one that was working itself on his torso. He started to breathe heavier as he opened the tear in his shirt to see a line of blood bubbling its way into open air.
His heart was beating faster now, and his head matched the tempo. He barely was able to blink again. No wonder his eyes felt heavy, his eyelashes were thick with blood as well, and the blood dribbling down onto his lips didn’t help his fast paced breathing.
He did this to himself, he was sure of that. He could manage this thought at this level through this haze of pain.
He doesn’t know why The Narrator hasn’t restarted either. It seems he’s scared of something. In moments it didn’t matter to him anymore, it seemed The Narrator wasn’t the only thing he had to think about, and he would see him on the next restart anyways.
He slowly felt the carpet press into his back as his breathing evened out. He was very tranquil.
I guess he bled out too much, and considering the giant gash crossing over his torso and his forehead ripped open, it was surprising he survived this long.
What had even happened? He was in a daze at one moment, thinking of his coworkers, his boss's office, his wife. Had he simply been here too long? Had being stuck in this endless loop started to program him in a way where it was all he knew, convinced that it was what he only needed to know?
Left door, right door, turn on the controls, turn them off, freedom, death, is this all he really knew about life? What did he actually know? He had a conscience and if he was real, then shouldn’t he know more? His wife? What about his wife?
Stanley thought for a moment about something The Narrator said about creating him, and the thought came into mind that maybe he never had a wife. And maybe because he was inching towards death he hadn’t felt anything at this realization. There was no reason to, he would’ve restarted anyways.
“I tried to save you… I didn’t know it would end like this… Stanley… I—-“
Stanley stayed quite as usual. Of course The Narrator had something to say as Stanley died. He decided to listen this time. Maybe as a friend, instead of anything else.
“This isn’t the first time this has happened… I’ve tried resetting, Stanley, but your issues seem to be rooted deeper. Deeper than anything I can even reach into. If I reset you now then what would happen if you end up like this again? Do I continue to watch you bash your head into the wall until chunks of your own matter are wedged into the cracks? To watch as you drag a knife along your torso and cry until you die and do it all over again?”
Stanley wasn’t crying.
“You're the only thing I’ve created. I’ve made you into an ideal image that even I wish to have. Not being able to worry about anything but one linear storyline that gives you the choice to misbehave or follow. To deny me or to indulge. To pave the way or to follow what was already created just for you. All of this was for you. I just…”
He went completely numb. He was glad there was no more pain.
“I just didn’t think a world made for you could harm you like this. Sometimes you die and get hurt but you always come back. But I… I just don’t think you can come back from this. I don’t think any resets or memory wiping can solve what you have…” a pause. “What I imposed on you. How could I…”
Stanley’s heart slowed.
“I’ve been your enemy, your friend, your guide, everything. I played each role to its completion to grant you some sort… Reward. Or maybe I was trying to reward myself for something… Stanley I think…”
He couldn’t move anymore at this point.
“…The only way I can help you is to get rid of you for good. So you never have to make a choice again. I need to close and put up this chapter of my life and go back to what I was, what I was supposed to be.”
Stanley’s eyes remained closed. Just listen, he thought. He’s there with you if you listen.
“Don’t be scared. Don’t cry anymore. You don’t need to be anything anymore. Just…”
He would restart and go back to normal… He started to wonder what he would decide on next. Maybe he would go right, a little bad karma never hurts anyone.
“Stanley………”
…
“…Goodnight Stanley.”