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“This is the story of a man named Stanley,” the Narrator said with a cool, calm smile. He watched Stanley carefully, taking in each move, each gesture, and each worried little glance that he threw at the ceiling. Continuing his narration, the Narrator folded his hands under his chin and watched as Stanley slowly, cautiously, stood from his chair. The Narrator smiled. The game had begun.
As Stanley stepped out of his office, the Narrator took a moment before continuing his narration. Then… he frowned. There was a cluster of pixels out of place on the screen that let him see Stanley; it was a clear wall to Stanley’s plane of existence. At least, it should be clear. Things in the corner were a bit muddled.
So, thinking it was like a smudge on glass, the Narrator reached forward to brush over the pixelated mess in the corner. The result was a slight static jolt that caused coding to flare to life in the Narrator's vision. Alarmed, he wrenched his hand back and away.
In Stanley’s office, the lights abruptly cut out.
Stanley was frozen mid-step, looking around desperately for some reason it had gone so dark. But no one spoke to him from another dimension. No one told him what was happening. He was alone. And that terrified him.
He’d never been alone his entire time in the Parable. Aside from the unfortunate Skip Button incident, Stanley had always been accompanied by his Narrator. Now, no voice guided him and he was alone in the dark.
Fumbling a bit, Stanley reached out for a wall, just to keep himself leveled until the lights came back.
“Where oh where is my dear Stanley?” The Narrator said through the dark, making Stanley jump and stumble where he stood.
Looking around wildly, he barely managed to brace himself against the wall when an overhead light flared to life. Only one light, though… and it was tinted a sickly shade of red. It illuminated a single figure in the doorway of the hall, leaning languidly against the doorframe and cloaked in stark shadows from the backlighting.
Reasonably, Stanley was alarmed. There was never anyone else with him in the Parable. So who was this?
The figure must have seen him bathed in that red light, because they stood upright and adjusted their jacket.
“There he is!” A familiar voice called to him. The only voice Stanley recognized. The only one that accompanied him here in the Parable. His eyes went wide at the form as it flourished its hands and gestured to Stanley. “The man of the hour! Protagonist extraordinaire! Light of my life!” The Narrator snapped his fingers, and the lights switched to line the floor in a deep, blood red wash. This lit him up properly, and Stanley saw rosy-tinted glasses and a wicked smile on his face as he purred, “Stanley.”
In the better lighting, Stanley could see this man was tall. Thin. He wore a dark jacket and a shirt that could have been red— though it might’ve been the lights. He had a sultry smile. His eyes raked over Stanley with a glint in them, and Stanley stumbled back and away.
What was this?
Without warning, the Narrator stepped forward, crowding Stanley’s space and smiling suavely. Stanley pulled back, pressing himself back until the Narrator had him flat against the wallpaper. The Narrator pulled down his rosy glasses to look at Stanley over the lenses.
“Hello, Stanley,” he said with a grin. “Finally able to see you up close and personal… what a rush.”
Stanley stared for a long, confused minute before he managed to lift his hands and sign, ‘You’re a person?’
The Narrator cocked his head to the side. “Was there any doubt?”
‘I don’t know,’ Stanley signed frantically. ‘I just thought you were a voice.’
With that smug smile, the Narrator reached up to adjust Stanley’s collar, smoothing the folds as he spoke. “Well, to be clear, I’m not human. Not like you. I’m a little bit… more. The fourth dimension is difficult to explain.”
Stanley blinked. Fourth? What was he talking about? The Narrator waved this away, as if it didn’t matter.
“Well! Now that I’m here,” the Narrator grinned and stepped back to admire him. “Let me get a look at you.” He grasped Stanley’s biceps and held him in place, squeezing tightly as he smiled. “Oh, look at you… each hair, each eyelash, each freckle and mole in the perfect place.”
Stanley blinked, a bit flabbergasted before he slowly signed, ‘Thank you.’
The Narrator laughed. “Hardly something you have to thank me for, Stanley. I wanted you to be this way, and now here you are. Perfect in every way. My favorite creation,” he said sweetly. Stanley squirmed out of his grip.
What was he talking about? Favorite creation… wasn’t the game his favorite thing? That aside, Stanley was hardly the only person in the game to begin with.
‘What about Mariella?’ He signed pointedly, ‘You made her, too.’
Pausing, the Narrator's smile fell a bit when he said, “Stanley, though I love all of the parts of the game, Mariella is not my protagonist. You are.”
Still confused, Stanley signed, ‘You came here to stare at me?’
The Narrator shrugged noncommittally. “Can’t one take time to admire their creations? There’s plenty to admire in you, Stanley.”
‘I don’t get why you’re like this,’ Stanley signed awkwardly. ‘Why are you being so nice?’
The Narrator cocked his head to the side curiously. “Is there something wrong with the way I’m acting? Would you rather go back to biting comments and cool distance?” Stanley hesitated, and the Narrator smiled. “You like this, don’t you.” It wasn’t a question. “You like getting positive attention. Like a puppy.”
Stanley frowned. ‘I’m not a dog.’
“Of course not, love.” Stanley didn’t miss that term of endearment, but he was too slow to bring it up before the Narrator reached forward and touched his cheek. Just softly, a brush of his thumb over Stanley’s cheek as he smiled. “Oh, Stanley…”
Instinctively, Stanley stepped back and away from the touch. It was missed immediately after, but in the moment, it had just been so much. He hadn’t touched another person in… god, it had to be years now. And to just be touched? Out of the blue? Stanley was more than a little shaken.
“Too much?” The Narrator asked gently, a pitying glint in his eye. “That’s alright. Humans are fragile things.”
Stanley shook out his hands a bit before signing. ‘I don’t understand.’
A little bitterly, the Narrator frowned and took a liberal step back, looking at Stanley over the lenses of his glasses pointedly. “I already said, Stanley: I came here to see you up close and personal. It’s different from watching at a distance. To see that expression on your face… or that twitch of your hands, or the flush of your cheeks…” he smiled again. “I want to drink it all in.”
Stanley squirmed under the attention. ‘Reset,’ He signed quickly.
The Narrator blinked, his smile falling a bit. “What?”
‘Reset the game. This isn’t right.’
Now the Narrator was frowning, his rose-colored glasses glinting in the red floor lights. “I don’t understand. You want to go back? Back before I was here with you, to keep you company? Back to a time when we were at each other’s throats? Is that what you want?”
Again, Stanley hesitated.
The world had turned on its head and the Narrator was completely different. He was there, a real physical person that could touch Stanley… but it was strange. This wasn’t the Narrator he had come to know, but did he want it to go back to the way it was? Would resetting make the Narrator disappear and the sweet words vanish? Was normality better than this? He wasn’t sure.
The Narrator smiled at Stanley’s indecision, a glint in his eyes as he coyly ducked his chin.
“Ah, indecision. You know you get the finest expression on your face when you think? A knot of your brow, the line of your lips… you really are remarkable.”
Frowning a little, Stanley made up his mind. ‘Reset.’
The Narrator sighed, but shrugged and stepped back. “Alright, alright… have it your way.”
With a snap of his fingers, the office went dark. Stanley felt a strange weightlessness for a second, then the righting of gravity as he was placed back down on even ground. The lights lifted, and he was back in his office.
The door was open, as usual. There was no one else outside his office. The lights were all on as well. None of them were tinged red, like before. For all intents and purposes, things were normal again.
“Stanley,” a voice called from outside his office. “Come on out. I don’t bite.”
Stanley frowned. Then again, maybe it wasn’t so normal.
Stepping outside his office, Stanley was allowed to marvel at the fact that, yes, the Narrator was still there. He sat on one of the desks, his legs crossed and smile coy as he looked at Stanley over rose-tinted glasses.
“Everything alright, love? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Stanley blinked and smoothed out his expression. ‘You’re still here.’
“Of course! Why would I give up an opportunity to observe up close?” He folded his hands and primly placed them in his lap with a smile. “This is much more fun than observing from a distance, don’t you think?”
Stanley sighed. It seemed he was stuck with this sweet-talking Narrator for the time being. But what was he supposed to do? Go through the Parable with the Narrator physically in tow? It would be nice… but no, that was ridiculous. Wasn’t it? Stanley huffed and looked to the Narrator, who was watching him with a dreamy smile.
“Look at you, thinking so hard… what’s on your mind, love?”
Stanley felt his ears burn at that, and he quickly signed, ‘Why do you keep calling me that?’
The Narrator hummed thoughtfully. “Why do I call you love? Simple: it’s because I adore you, Stanley. I put you together and made you what you are, but it’s the nature of things for the creation to surpass the creator's expectation!” He stood from the desk to gesture at all of Stanley. “From your brilliant little mind to the patter of your heart to the steps of your feet, Stanley… you are much greater than the sum of your parts. And I couldn’t be happier to see it! Truly,” his smile softened, “I love you, Stanley.”
Stanley stared at him. This couldn’t be real. It had to be a joke of some sort. A cruel prank. The Narrator was harsh and scolding and stuffy. He didn’t love Stanley any more than a wood loved termites.
And yet… there was conviction in his words. A glint in his eyes behind his glasses. A warmth in his smile… Stanley almost wanted to believe it. Almost.
“Now that that’s settled,” the Narrator said with a grin, “What should we do now, Stanley? Go through the Parable? Go back to your office? Neither?”
Stanley blinked, getting a bit of whiplash. ‘You just said you love me.’
“Yes?” The Narrator cocked his head to the side. “Obviously?”
Stanley stared. ‘Now I know something’s wrong with you. You don’t love me.’
Now the Narrator looked a bit uncomfortable. His voice was low and serious when he said, “Why would you say that?”
Stanley gestured to himself irritably. ‘Because I’m me! You hate me! You’ve killed me over a hundred times—‘
“Now, Stanley, you might be exaggerating—“ Stanley held up a hand to stop him, and the Narrator respectfully waited.
‘And you hate when I don’t go along with your story! You make fun of me. You play mind games.’ He frowned and signed, ‘You don’t love me.’
The Narrator’s gaze softened, and he murmured, “I rather thought we’d gotten over our distaste for each other many, many runs ago. Things have changed. We’ve been getting on alright, haven’t we? And after all we’ve been through… Is it so wrong to find affection for such a regular part of my life?”
Stanley hesitated, his hands hovering in the air as he fought to organize his thoughts. What was he supposed to say to that?
A little confused by it all, Stanley reached for the closest rolling chair and sat down, just so he could think for a minute. Next to him, the Narrator cooed and clicked his tongue.
“Oh, poor thing… humans always get so overwhelmed by the smallest of things.” Stanley glowered up at him, but the Narrator didn’t seem to notice. “Being overwhelmed by the entire facility going up in smoke? That I can understand. But having someone say ‘I love you’ causing inner turmoil? Strange. Very strange.” He perched his hip on the desk next to Stanley and inspected his nails nonchalantly. “It’s odd, Stanley. You’re behaving like you’ve never heard the words before.”
Again, Stanley glowered, but it was useless considering the Narrator wasn’t looking at him. With a sigh, Stanley tapped his leg to get the Narrator's attention before he signed, ‘I just didn’t expect those words to come from you.’
The Narrator looked baffled. “Whyever not?”
‘I already listed reasons you don’t like me.’
“And I’ve already told you that these things are trivial. That I love you in spite.”
Stanley huffed. ‘Sure.’
“Don’t sign in that tone, Stanley. I don’t appreciate it. Now.” The Narrator took a breath and smiled. “What will we do now?”
Stanley looked up at him. ‘You’re asking me?’
The Narrator chuckled. “Of course? You’re the protagonist, Stanley. And I’m here to narrate. We'll do whatever you like. Anything you want. Sky’s the limit.”
Stanley thought for a moment. Then he slowly signed, ‘I don’t want to do the Parable.’
The Narrator nodded, as if this was acceptable. “Alright. What do you want, love?”
Raking a hand back through his hair, Stanley sighed. He could do anything? Could he ask to be set free from the Parable? Was there even a real world outside of it? Maybe… but probably not. He would have to start small. See what the limits were to this ‘do anything you want’ nonsense.
Looking to the Narrator, Stanley signed, ‘I want a beer.’
The Narrator raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Really. The entirety of reality at my fingertips… and you ask for a beer.”
Stanley went on. ‘A real beer. No watered-down, light-ale crap. Just a regular cheap beer I could buy anywhere.’
After all that time going through the Parable over and over… he’d earned a good drink. At least, that was his rationalization.
Rolling his eyes, the Narrator gestured to the desk, and sure enough, there was a can of beer waiting for Stanley. It looked like it was fresh out of the cooler with a bit of condensation clinging to the can. Stanley took it in his hand. It felt heavy and real. He popped the tab. It fizzed and foamed a bit, like real beer. He took a drink.
God, he hadn’t had a beer in years. It was worth the wait, if only to chase the pleasant buzz that came after a full beer was knocked back. So, with abandon, Stanley chugged the beer as fast and hard as he could.
The Narrator watched this curiously, but said nothing.
When the can was slapped down on the desk — empty and rattling against the desktop — Stanley let out a loud, pleased burp. The Narrator wrinkled his nose.
“Charming.” He perched his chin in his hand and smiled. “What else, love? What can I get for you?”
Stanley blinked, a little lightheaded from drinking so fast. Then he signed, ‘I want food.’
The Narrator's smile widened. “You’re endlessly fascinating, Stanley. I’ve turned off your biological needs, and here you are, asking for food and drink. Just fascinating. What would you like?”
Stanley pursed his lips. ‘Chips.’
“Chips? Ah, you want crisps. Just a moment…”
With a gesture, Stanley looked at the desk to see a few multicolored bags of chips. Different flavors, different sizes… he really could have anything he wanted. Anything at all. Stanley looked at the Narrator.
‘I want a lounge chair.’
The Narrator chuckled. “Getting lazy, love?”
But sure enough, he snapped his fingers and Stanley’s chair became a lounge chair that could lay all the way back and bring up a footrest. Stanley tried it a few times, just for show, then sat back up with a purpose.
‘You never let me sleep. I want a bed.’
The Narrator didn’t have a comment for that one. He simply pointed behind Stanley, and there it was. A four-poster bed with soft, down blankets and a mound of pillows just waiting for Stanley. Just looking at it made him sleepy. Stanley turned back to the Narrator… and carefully… he signed:
‘I want to see my wife.’
The Narrator hesitated, looked away, and lowered his hands. Stanley’s heart sunk with his words. “That’s one thing I can’t do so easily, Stanley. Conjuring up items from a database is one thing, but constructing a whole human being from nothing? That takes… considerable time.”
Stanley felt his stomach twist. And he flexed his hands a few times before signing, ‘Was she ever real?’ The Narrator looked at him helplessly, and Stanley pressed, ‘Was I ever even married?’
The Narrator sighed. “Oh, Stanley… I gave you memories, didn’t I? Memories of joy. Contentment. Relaxation. I gave you memories of moments together, and apart. I even gave you memories of touch. But it—she wasn’t— it’s not—“ he stopped, thought for a moment, and sighed again. “She was never part of the game, Stanley. It wasn’t necessary to build an entire person.”
‘Yes she was. There was an ending all about it.’ Stanley looked at the Narrator, feeling more than a little tortured by this fact. ‘You used my ‘wife’ to make me feel unlovable.’
“Stanley—“
‘You said ‘who would ever devote their life to you?’ Didn’t you?’
“Stanley, please—“
Stanley turned away and clapped his hands over his ears. He knew he was acting like a child. He knew he was just hiding from the words the Narrator wanted to say. Words that might explain it all away as “part of the game.” But he didn’t want to hear it. So he closed his eyes. He held his hands over his ears. He curled in on himself and tried to ignore the rush of his heartbeat… belatedly, he realized that he’d begun to cry. And why shouldn’t he? He had been lied to. His wife never existed. None of it was real, and his entire life was a sham.
And his Narrator only watched, defeated.
He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that, but by the time he lifted his head, his beer was starting to really kick in. It was surprising how light-weight a person could get when they hadn’t had alcohol their entire time in the Parable. He was a tiny bit dizzy and warm as he stood upright and turned around. The Narrator was there, waiting for him. Still sitting on the edge of the desk, still watching him with those golden eyes behind rosy glasses… and when he spoke, Stanley didn’t flinch away.
“I’m sorry, Stanley,” he said.
Stanley didn’t move.
“It was all part of the choices you could make. The possibilities of the game. I… you only visited that ending once. You know that? One time. I didn’t know you remembered it, after all this time…”
Stanley blinked and wiped at his face tiredly. ‘Pretty hard to forget that the one time I thought I wasn't alone… I really was.’
The Narrator softened. “But you aren’t alone, Stanley. That’s the beauty of it! You have me, love. And I’ll always be here.”
Stanley stared at him, too tired to argue. Then, quietly, he sat down in his soft lounge chair and picked up a bag of chips. He opened them and started to munch on them while he stared at the far wall. The Narrator didn’t press. He simply waited until Stanley was done.
Then, Stanley sniffled and signed, ‘I want to go outside.’
The Narrator looked up from where he’d been inspecting his shoes. “Hmm? Say that again, I wasn’t looking.”
Glaring a little, Stanley sharply signed, ‘I want. To go. Outside.’
Now the Narrator winced, but it wasn’t the signing that gave him pause. It was the words that were conveyed. He reached up to touch his glasses as he thought for a moment… then he spoke.
“That… well. Of course you can go outside, love. I'd be happy to take you there. We’d just have to go through the Parable to the proper ending and—“
‘No.’
The Narrator blinked. “What do you mean no? You just said you wanted to go outside.”
‘I want to really go outside.’ Stanley signed tiredly. ‘I want to leave the Parable.’
Slowly, the Narrator took a deep breath… and sighed. “I’m sorry, Stanley. I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
Stanley glared. ‘Why not?’
The Narrator didn’t look at him. “Because it’s just not possible, darling.”
Standing up — and stumbling a little — Stanley signed angrily, ‘You said anything I wanted. You said anything! So let me leave!’
Now the Narrator raised his eyes. “Stanley, love, please understand—“
‘Don’t call me that. You said you’d let me do whatever I want.’
“I did say that, yes…”
‘And you said the sky’s the limit.’
“Yes, but—“
‘Then let me leave!’ He signed desperately. Over and over. ‘Let me leave. Let me leave. Let me leave.’
Until the Narrator reached out to gently still his hands. Stanley hadn’t even noticed his hands were shaking, but there they were, trembling in the Narrator's larger, gentle hands. He almost yanked his hands away, angry and frustrated and so many other emotions… but when he saw those eyes. Those golden eyes behind rose-colored glasses. He paused.
“Stanley,” the Narrator said calmly. “There is no outside.”
Stanley frowned. What was he— oh. Oh. Stanley took a step back. Then another. The outside world… the world he thought was just within reach… wasn’t real. It was all part of the game. Stanley almost wanted to laugh. Of course it was part of the game. Everything was part of the game. His wife, his apartment, down to each blade of fabricated grass in the proper ending… it was all part of the game.
And now this? This strange Narrator and his confessions of love and letting Stanley have whatever he wanted? Surely this was all part of the game, too. Stanley shook his head and huffed.
‘What do you want from me?’ He signed tiredly.
The Narrator blinked. “Pardon?”
‘What do you want me to do?’ He gestured to the Narrator vaguely. ‘How do I make this go away? How do I end this run and make you go back to normal?’
Another pause, one where the Narrator twiddled his thumbs a bit before speaking. “I don’t understand, Stanley… you want to go back to a time when we were always at odds?”
Stanley frowned. ‘This is all part of the game, right?’
The Narrator smiled a little sadly. “Hardly, darling. This is me, just as I am, without any pretenses.”
Now Stanley glared. ‘Liar.’
“It’s true, Stanley. I swear by the coding of the game that it’s true.” He crossed his heart dramatically. “I have loved you, am loving you, am going to love you… and that’s not changing.”
‘Until I find the ending of this route,’ Stanley concluded crossly.
The Narrator sighed and shook his head. “Alright. Have it your way.”
Feeling a bit tired, Stanley shuffled over to the bed and sat down. It was soft. Comfortable and plush and… oh no, the pillows were soft, too. He laid back, spreading out on the blankets and letting out a contented sigh as he closed his eyes. This was heaven, he was sure of it. Or at least, the closest thing he was getting to heaven.
Still sitting on the desk, the Narrator smiled. “Like it, love? I looked for the softest blankets in the database for you.” Stanley flipped him a middle finger, but the Narrator only laughed. “Fight it all you want, Stanley. You’re comfortable.”
And Stanley really was. He hated to admit it… but he was downright cozy laying among all these blankets and pillows. He kicked off his shoes, pushed back the blankets, and tucked himself in. While he did that, the Narrator game around the desk to look at him, a smile on his face as he leaned back against the cubicle.
“Happy, love?” Stanley shrugged, and the Narrator smiled. “I’m glad. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” He looked down at his feet for a moment before he met Stanley’s eye again. “The game was never meant to be funny, but… I did want it to be fun. I wanted you to enjoy it. Did you?”
Stanley stared at him. Did he enjoy being held in this endless loop of decisions and death that meant nothing? Did he enjoy the repetitive lines and quips? Did he enjoy it?
Stanley looked at him, and saw hope glimmering behind his rosy glasses. So, too tired to sign an eloquent ‘go fuck yourself’ Stanley sighed.
And he nodded.
The Narrator smiled. “Thank you, darling.”
Stanley turned away and closed his eyes. The Narrator let him, not saying a word as he dimmed the overseas lights with a wave of his hand. Stanley sighed happily. This might not be freedom, but it was a reprieve… and that was better than nothing.
+++++
When Stanley woke, he looked up at a dim, tiled ceiling. The lights were turned off, and the only thing illuminating the room was the bright light from the hallway window. It casted stark shadows over everything else, and Stanley had to remind himself that he was safe if he hadn’t started the Parable.
That said, Stanley turned his head to the right to see the form of a man standing against the cubicle next to him. He was leaned there, stiff as a board with his arms crossed over his chest. His face was stern and serious. Stanley blinked, watching the rose-red lenses of the Narrator’s glasses glint in the light through the window.
Sitting up, Stanley watched the Narrator carefully. He didn’t move. He didn’t even breathe or blink. Stanley frowned. Was he broken? Could the Narrator even break? Or worse, was the entire game frozen?
Looking around, Stanley tried to find any indication that the world around him wasn’t stuck—but there was no one else to confirm or deny his worries. So. That left him with a stock-still Narrator and a twisting, worried feeling in his gut.
Kicking his legs over the edge of the bed, Stanley found his shoes (when had they been tucked under the bed so nicely?) and put them back on his feet. He looked at the Narrator. Nothing. No movement. Stanley stood and stepped a little closer.
Like this, he could see the laugh lines on his cheeks. He could see the tired wrinkles of worry on his brow, and the aged lines under his eyes and crinkles where his eyes squinted when he smiled. His golden eyes stared at nothing, but Stanley marveled anyway, watching the spin of gold with flecks of brown in the iris. His hair was peppered with gray, combed back neatly from his face. Surely, if he let it down, it would brush over his eyes. Stanley took a breath.
In short, his Narrator was a handsome man. He’d just never been given the time to properly admire him.
Abruptly, the Narrator blinked and looked up. Stanley jumped and skittered back and away from him, but the Narrator only smiled.
“Stanley,” he said in that fond, affectionate tone. “You’re awake! Did you sleep well, love?”
Stanley shrugged. Then gestured to the Narrator vaguely. ‘What was that?’ The Narrator hummed curiously, and Stanley tried again. ‘You were just… stuck. Standing there. Did you freeze?’
Chuckling a bit, the Narrator shook his head. “Oh, no. No, no, I didn’t freeze. I was working through a bit of code.”
Stanley stared at him, not comprehending. ‘Code?’
Nodding, the Narrator took off his glasses and held them out for inspection. Stanley looked at them for a moment… then at the Narrator. He didn’t move. The Narrator laughed at his cautiousness.
“They won’t bite, Stanley. They’re just glasses.”
Hesitantly, Stanley stepped forward and looked at the glasses. At first blush, they didn’t seem special in any way. The frames were thin and metal. The lenses were thick and tinted red. Nothing of note. But when Stanley leaned close and looked at the lenses carefully, he could see movement in the glass.
Lines of code were running through the glass like rapid-fire reading, and it was an endless stream of letters and numbers. He stared in confused horror. The Narrator saw this… all the time? He looked up, and the Narrator smiled, putting the glasses back on his face.
“There’s something that’s been bothering me, so I was looking into it. But now that you’re awake, I can place that on the back burner for now.” He reached out to brush Stanley’s sleep-missed hair from his eyes. “I’d much rather spend time with you, after all.”
Stanley squirmed away. He was never going to get used to this attitude. But… the Narrator said this was the real him. No pretenses. So… it might be like this forever. Stanley frowned and looked at him sharply.
‘What’s wrong with the code?’
The Narrator blinked. “It’s very boring, Stanley. I don’t think you’d be interested.”
‘I want to know. Maybe it’s why you’re acting weird.’
He rolled his eyes. “Again, with this whole ‘acting strange’ business… nothing is wrong with me, Stanley.”
Stanley narrowed his eyes.’So this is all part of an ending. A route I have to follow. Then you’ll go back to normal.’
“Oh, darling…” The Narrator sighed. “If I say yes, will it make you feel better?”
‘No,’ Stanley signed petulantly.
“Well. There’s no pleasing you, is there?” The Narrator chuckled, like this was amusing, and he adjusted his glasses. “Alright, Stanley. I’ll play along. Let’s go through the Parable and see if you can ‘fix’ me. But I’ll warn you now,” he said with a smile, “You’ll be disappointed.”
Frowning, Stanley marched toward the hall — the Narrator followed. They walked through the twisting corridors until they reached the two doors. Stanley glanced at the Narrator. He only smiled.
“When he came to a set of two doors, Stanley took the door on his left,” he said dutifully.
Squinting suspiciously, Stanley headed toward the left door… then stopped, trying to gauge the Narrator's reaction. He simply stood there with his hands in the pockets of his khakis, relaxed and smiling that lovesick smile.
“You can take whichever door you like, love. Any ending will do.”
Stanley grimaced and glanced between the doors. Any ending would do? That didn’t seem right. Usually, the Narrator wanted him to follow instructions to the letter. But now, it was just… whatever he wanted? It didn’t make sense. It was enough to make Stanley doubt for a moment; was the Narrator really functioning correctly? Maybe this was an error of some sort. If that was the case, only the Narrator could fix it. He was the one that could alter the code, after all. Stanley frowned and went through the left door. The Narrator followed calmly.
“Capital choice, love. It always makes me proud when you follow the narration.”
Stanley ignored that, despite the way it made his heart want to flutter excitedly. On they went through the halls and into the meeting room. The Narrator spoke his lines without much conviction, like he was bored of the situation. Stanley carried on down the hall and to the stairs.
The Narrator glanced at him when they paused in the stairwell. “Where to, darling?”
Stanley frowned at him. ‘Why do you keep calling me that?’
“Because you’re a darling man and I adore you.” The Narrator smiled. “It’s really very simple.”
With a roll of his eyes, Stanley stomped up the stairs, refusing to let those words worm their way into his heart. It wasn’t real. He didn’t really feel that way. It was a game of some sort. A ploy to get Stanley to go through the Parable and achieve a certain ending. Or, it was an error and the game was on the verge of malfunction. Neither option was pleasant, but Stanley would take the former over the game breaking.
Quickly going up to the boss’s office and straight to the keypad behind the desk, Stanley punched in the code 2-8-4-5. The Narrator entered the room just as the windows were covered and the secret tunnel was revealed. He smiled at Stanley coolly.
“Well done, Stanley! I applaud your excellent memory. I always wondered if you needed a reminder of the code.”
Waving him forward, Stanley impatiently tried to get him to walk a little faster. But the Narrator was taking his time, slowly rambling through the office and into the secret entrance. When his meandering pace started to irritate Stanley, he reached out and grabbed the Narrator's wrist and pulled him toward the lift. The Narrator laughed at his tugging.
“I’m coming, don’t worry— are you really that eager to get to the end? Can’t we take our time?”
Stanley pinched his fingers together in a terse, ‘No.’
Mashing the Down button on the lift, Stanley glowered as the metal grate covered the entrance of the lift… and they started their descent. In all honesty, he knew the True Ending like the back of his hand. He’d gone over it multiple times, just for the comfort of some kind of normality. But in the end, boredom had won out, and he’d ended up going for the Zending. That was a painful experience. One that he seldom repeated. He glanced at the Narrator. Did he ever think of those dark, hurtful endings? Did he ever… regret? Maybe. Possibly. Stanley didn’t have the heart to ask.
Quietly, the lift came to a shuddering halt in the creepy basement, and the two of them stepped off together. The Narrator glanced at him with a smile.
“Alright, Stanley. Moment of truth. Where are we headed?”
Stanley took his wrist again, pulling him forward and toward the Mind Control Facility. The Narrator was quiet while they walked, but when Stanley glanced back at him, he was still smiling. Still calm. Unbothered by their chosen path. Stanley looked away and continued pulling him along.
They reached the facility. The cameras were turned on. The lights flickered to life. Stanley squinted at the brightness, and the Narrator frowned on about the cameras watching their every move… and they carried on. Over the catwalk, to the lift, and up into the main control room.
Stanley let the Narrator narrate to himself. He wasn’t paying attention. He just wanted things to go back to the way they were. Was that too much to ask? Marching to the OFF button, Stanley glanced at the Narrator.
He tilted his head coyly. “Cold feet, love?”
Stanley frowned. And moved to the ON button. The Narrator raised an eyebrow.
“Interesting… what are you going to accomplish with that? What are you hoping to get out of this?”
Stanley glowered. ‘I want my Narrator back.’
He pushed the button, and the room was engulfed in red light as the Countdown Ending began.
But, unlike every other time Stanley had chosen self-destruction, there was no narration to accompany the decision. The Narrator simply looked at Stanley with that calm, considering smile.
“Interesting. Very interesting. And do you think I’ll go up in flames with you, darling? Do you think I’ll be born anew, fresh-faced and jaded as I used to be?” The Narrator stepped forward and took Stanley’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting his head up and forcing their eyes to meet properly. Stanley tried to pull away, but he was backed up against the control panel with nowhere to run. The Narrator looked at him carefully. “You want your Narrator back, Stanley? Consider this: I am your Narrator. I always have been.”
Stanley swallowed thickly. The countdown was reflected in the Narrator’s red glasses. One minute and thirty seconds. The walls were beginning to shake. The Narrator went on.
“And now you think blowing the building to kingdom come will fix things? Is there logic in that? My physical manifestation is just a placeholder for power you couldn’t possibly comprehend. Stanley, my dearest, please understand…” he smiled, “You cannot kill me in any way that matters.”
Stanley shivered at that tone, but his eyes flickered back to the reflection. The floor was starting to buck and rattle. Forty-five seconds left.
“What’s wrong, darling? Tongue-tied now that we’re here? Are you beginning to regret your choice?”
Thirty-five seconds.
“Tell me, Stanley… Do you ever feel the explosion? Or does everything simply go dark? Well… I suppose I’ll learn for myself in about… thirty seconds.”
Stanley stared in horror. Twenty-nine. Twenty-eight. Twenty-seven… behind the numbers reflected on the glass, he could see coding swimming through the lenses. It moved too quick for Stanley to read it, but it was there, flickering through the Narrator’s vision as his eyes flickered over the coding. He smiled sweetly, and Stanley grasped at his forearms, just for something to hold onto while the floor shook beneath them.
“Deep breath, darling… here it comes.”
Ten… Nine... Eight…
Stanley steeled his expression. He wasn’t going to go out with fear written across his face. He was going to be brave. He was going to die angry.
Six… Five… Four…
“Three… two…” the Narrator leaned forward and kissed Stanley’s cheek. Stanley didn’t even have time to react before the Narrator whispered in his ear: “One.”
There was a flicker of light. A sound wave that pierced Stanely’s ears. A surge of immense pressure…
And then the world went dark.
+++++
When the lights lifted, Stanley was standing at his desk. He took a breath. Then another. He was alive. Just as he always was after a bad ending. And, per the usual, he was alone.
“Stanley?” A song-song voice called from outside the office. “Where are you?”
Or maybe he wasn’t alone. Stanley sighed and stepped out of his office, scrubbing a tired hand over his face as he did. Sitting at the nearest cubicle, the Narrator was waiting for him with a smile.
“Hello, love,” he said with a smile. Then, like it needed to be said he added, “Welcome back.”
Stanley sighed. ‘I died for nothing.’
The Narrator thinned his lips and shrugged. “Well, I would say it was a worthy cause, but… I think you were confused.” Another shrug. “Ah well. Now what would you like to do?”
Stanley frowned. ‘I want things to go back to the way they were.’
The Narrator raised an eyebrow. “You want me to go back to the way I was? Stanley, I’m beginning to think you have some rather odd proclivities. Do you enjoy it when I’m mean to you?” Stanley felt a blush creep up to his cheeks unbidden, and before he could deny it, the Narrator leaned forward and smiled. “You like being scolded? I never pegged you as a masochist, love. But if that makes you happy…”
Stanley quickly made an X with his arms. A hard STOP to the progression of that thought. The Narrator thankfully stopped. Stanley sighed.
‘I trusted you more when you acted like…’ Stanley fumbled. ‘Like you? You’re not you when you’re like this.’
The Narrator cocked his head to the side, curious. “And what would you say if I told you that wasn’t true? That a simple filter has been removed and I’m speaking my mind freely? I’ve always loved you, Stanley. Now I simply have the means to say it plainly.”
Chewing his lip a little bit, Stanley thought for a moment. Could that be true? Was the Narrator baring his soul for Stanley, and he didn’t even have the decency to take it seriously? Maybe… possibly… but there was everything else. The sudden, complete change in attitude. The flaw in the code he’d mentioned. These things had to be correlated.
Looking up, Stanley met the Narrator’s eye.
‘I want to believe you.’
The Narrator smiled again. “Well, that’s certainly progress.”
Stanley held up a hand to stop him. ‘But,’ He signed carefully, ‘you need to answer a few questions.’
The Narrator laughed a bit. “Fire away, Stanley.” He opened his hands and shrugged. “I’m an open book.”
‘You said you’ve always loved me.’
“Yes.”
‘How long?’ Stanley asked, trying to catch him in a lie. Unfortunately, the Narrator simply smiled.
“Oh, always. Always, darling. Since the beginning. From the moment you made your first silly choice.”
‘Why not tell me before?’
“Like I said. A filter was in the way.” He shrugged. “Are we done with the questions? There are plenty of other more interesting things we could be doing.”
Stanley frowned. ‘I’m not done.’
The Narrator raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright… carry on, then.”
Stanley hesitated, then signed, ‘You said a filter was removed. Is that figurative? Or literal?’
“Both?” The Narrator said with a grin. “It’s a bit complex. Difficult to explain in a way you’d understand.”
Still, Stanley pushed the subject. ‘Why was it removed? What changed?’
“Well, that’s simple. It’s because…” the Narrator paused. Then he frowned. “Because, I… I’m…” He looked confused. Unsure of himself for the first time since he appeared before Stanley. And he looked up, his eyes flashing strangely behind his rosy glasses. “I don’t know. I don’t know what changed.”
There. That was his opening.
‘When did things change?’
The Narrator blinked, staring into space for a moment before he murmured, “Not long ago. There was… something wrong with my lens. I couldn’t see clearly. I reached out,” he lifted his hand, like he was reaching for something, “And I tried… to fix it…” he blinked slowly. “And then I was here. With you.”
Stanley narrowed his eyes. ‘And now you’re acting weird. Was it a glitch? An error?’
“Slow down, Stanley. I can’t read what you’re saying when you move that fast—“
Stanley ignored him, stepping forward and signing with urgency. ‘You said there was some part of the code that was bothering you. Is that the problem? Can you be fixed?’
The Narrator frowned. “I’m getting a bit tired of you saying there’s something wrong with me.”
Again, Stanley ignored him. ‘Look at the code again. Tell me what it means.’
Sitting back a bit, the Narrator sighed. “Is that all? Would that make you happy? Fine. Fine, I’ll look into the code.”
Like that, the Narrator's expression turned serious and his eyes seemed far away as he started to read the coding in his rosy glasses. Stanley let him sit like that for a while, quiet and contemplative. While he did that, Stanley started to pace around the office.
Something happened earlier. The lights went out, and when they came back, the Narrator was there. So it must’ve happened in that brief moment when the power went out. Whatever it was, it was creating a malfunctioning Narrator that was far too loving for Stanley’s comfort. But, he hoped, if the weirdness in the code was addressed and the Narrator went back to normal… things would be better.
Wouldn’t they?
Stanley hesitated, his pacing paused as he looked at the Narrator. He was still reading behind his glasses, deep in thought as Stanley looked at him. According to him, he’d always loved Stanley. From the very beginning, apparently. And Stanley… how did he feel about the Narrator?
His only friend. His enemy. His companion in this bleak, empty world. The only one he trusted to narrate him. No one else could do it right, and he knew it. Stanley frowned. He cared about the Narrator. He wanted the original back, because… because…
Well. The words were too simple, weren’t they? Too plain for what he was trying to say. What he felt was beyond friendship and too intense to be called affection… but maybe that’s what love was. A strange feeling that couldn’t be explained. The worry that he wouldn’t see his real Narrator… the fear that he would be trapped with an alternate version instead of the one he knew and loved? That terrified him.
And that feeling was nearly enough to knock Stanley off his feet.
While he was coming to this realization, the Narrator blinked and looked up from where he’d been staring into space. He glanced over at Stanley with a tired smile.
“Alright, Stanley. I think I’ve found the issue.” Stanley raised his hands to sign, but the Narrator was faster with his own hand, raising it and simply saying, “Let’s give this a try.”
His fingers snapped, and the lights cut out.
Stanley waved his arms a bit, looking for something — anything — to give him a sense of direction. But nothing was close enough to touch. So he stood there, awkwardly holding out his hands… until the lights snapped back on with a soft click.
There, standing at the cubicle, the Narrator still stood. But he looked… different. His shirt was no longer that soft, lovely pink. Now it was a pale, pastel yellow. He wore a brown coat over it, with elbow patches that made him look less fashionable, but more distinguished. And his glasses…
Stanley watched as the Narrator turned to look at him. His glasses were plain, thick lenses. No rosy tint. But his eyes… his eyes were familiar. The same golden eyes that Stanley knew and loved. Stanley took a breath… and smiled.
The Narrator passed a hand over the front of his shirt, smoothing it as he said, “Hello, Stanley. Apologies for the, ah… confusion, earlier. It seems there was an error in my— Stanley? Stanley, are you alright?”
Stanley blinked, and hot tears ran down his cheeks. He was back. He was stiff and formal and ridiculous and he was back. Stanley walked toward him, and he Narrator raised an eyebrow.
“Whatever is the matter? You wanted me to fix this. I don’t understand why you’re upset now that I’ve—“ he stopped.
He stopped because Stanley had wrapped his arms around him and pulled him into a tight, torrid embrace. The Narrator let himself be pulled in and held— though he was a bit stiff in Stanley’s arms.
“Oh,” he said, like he needed to say something. “Well, this is… this is nicer than I thought it would be. I never thought physical contact would be so…” he didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. Stanley understood.
After a long, tense moment, the Narrator placed his hands on Stanley’s back, finally returning the embrace. They held each other, and Stanley turned his nose into the juncture of the Narrator’s neck, taking a breath and smelling paper and ink. The Narrator's hands flexed against his back, and he realized that the man might be uncomfortable.
Leaning back, Stanley looked up at the Narrator… and froze.
His glasses were tinted a rosy pink and he looked down at Stanley with an awed expression on his face.
“Stanley,” he breathed, clearly taken aback. Stanley stared at him, and the Narrator blinked hard, his eyes going back to normal and the rosy tint fading from his glasses. He blinked open his eyes and cleared his throat. “Pardon me. That was… I’m not sure what came over me.”
But Stanley did. He knew exactly what it was. He knew the words exhaust the Narrator had told him, so many times before. It was love. Plain and simple.
And Stanley loved him right back.
So, without a thought, Stanley put a hand on the back of the Narrator’s neck, pulling him down and into a kiss. The Narrator went willingly, no hint of hesitation or confusion as he closed his eyes and let Stanley kiss him.
It was easy kissing the Narrator, Stanley realized. As if they fit together like two enthusiastic puzzle pieces. His hands carded back through that meticulously combed-back hair, thoroughly mussing it as he kissed a little harder. A little deeper. The Narrator let out a soft, breathy noise, and Stanley swallowed the sound worth another kiss.
The Narrator wasn’t one to sit still either; his hands were tracing the back of Stanley’s shirt, smoothing over the pale of his back and down, down, down to his belt loops where he took hold and pulled Stanley close. There they stood, connected hip to chest as Stanley gasped and tugged at the Narrator's hair, forcing them to part. The Narrator groaned — and Stanley doled that sound away for later.
For now, he was busy looking at his Narrator, seeing the flush of his cheeks and the rose-colored tint to his glasses. His hair was perfectly disheveled. His lips were pink and parted around every breath… he was ruined and Stanley loved it.
“Stanley,” the Narrator said, low and warning. Stanley smiled smugly, and the Narrator's fingers dug into his hips. “Stanley…”
If the Narrator wanted him to continue, he would. Until then, Stanley leaned back and smiled at the way he’d messed up his formerly prim and proper Narrator. Wrinkles in his shirt, glasses askew and now pink, and the dark look in his eye? It was downright scandalous. And Stanley couldn’t be happier.
Without warning, the Narrator leaned forward, kissing at Stanley’s jaw and traveling lower… lower… down to his neck where he kissed gently… and then bit down. Stanley jumped and pushed him away, clearly alarmed, and the Narrator chuckled.
“I’d always wondered about that one,” he said, amused by the reaction. He smoothed his shirt and straightened his glasses. “Biting as a form of affection… humans are strange.”
Stanley let out a huff of laughter. ‘You could have warned me first.’
The Narrator raised an eyebrow. “And miss that look of shock on your face? Hardly.”
Stanley rolled his eyes, but stepped back into the Narrator’s waiting arms. There, he looked at the Narrator carefully.
‘Your glasses are tinted.’ He signed slowly. The Narrator cleared his throat awkwardly.
“That’s, ah… well. There’s a perfectly logical explanation.”
Stanley grinned. ‘It’s like you’re blushing.’
There was a pause… then the Narrator laughed. “Yes, I… well, I suppose it is. They’ll go back to normal in a moment, I’m sure.”
True to form, the rosy tint was already fading, and the glasses were clean and clear once more. Shrugging a bit, Stanley reached up to touch the glasses — but the Narrator stopped him.
“Careful, Stanley. That’s the one thing I can’t let you meddle with.”
Stanley stared at him for a long time… then, he signed, ‘Was it an error that made you act differently earlier?’
The Narrator twitched and took a breath. “Well… it’s… complicated. There are multiple layers of information that I process. One of them was simply skewed and it muddled the coding a bit. When I tried to correct it, the skew transferred to me, altering my behavioral patterns and… well. It’s all a little bit silly.”
Stanley nodded slowly. ‘But it didn’t change everything.’
The Narrator blinked. “What exactly are you asking me, Stanley? Use your words like a big boy.”
Feeling his ears burn at that, Stanley took a breath… and then signed, ‘When you were all… lovebug and stuff. You said you loved me.’
“Lovebug? Is that what you said?” The Narrator asked, clearly bothered. “What a bizarre way of describing that situation.”
Stanley frowned. ‘Focus.’
“Right, right, yes… I said I loved you. And?”
Stanley hesitated. ‘You said you always would.’
The Narrator sighed. “Stanley, if you’re about to call me a liar—“
‘Is that still true?’
The Narrator blinked, then his gaze softened. “Is it…? Oh, Stanley…” he took Stanley’s face in his hands and smiled softly. His glasses earned a hint of a rosy hue. “Of course it is.”
Stanley smiled a little; he was loved. Loved by his Narrator. And he felt like it, too. He wasn’t scared. He wasn’t confused. He felt warm and light and… he leaned into the touch of the Narrator's hands. Adoring the feel of actual touch.
He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, leaning into the Narrator, but it was long enough for his legs to get tired of holding him up. He had to sit after a while, and the Narrator stood over him with a thoughtful expression on his face.
“Well…” The Narrator said after a long while. “I’m curious as to where this will take us now. I can’t see myself just going back to my position as a casual observer… no, I’ve thoroughly destroyed the wall between us.”
Stanley raised an eyebrow. ‘And I don’t want you to leave.’
“Wonderful,” The Narrator nodded. “Which means… what? What happens to the Parable? We can’t just abandon the story. Not after all the work that’s gone into it.” He crossed his arms over his chest and thought for a long moment. And Stanley watched him.
‘You can still narrate me,’ Stanley said. ‘You did it just fine when you walked me through the story earlier.’
The Narrator stopped and looked at him. “You… you’d like to stay with the story?”
Stanley shrugged. ‘I don’t really have a choice. There’s nowhere else to go.’
“Ah, yes… very good point. So I’ll just… stay here. With you.” The Narrator nodded, like he had to convince himself. “Yes… yes, I think that’ll do quite nicely. Come along, Stanley.” He lifted a hand. “Well, do a quick reset and you’ll be right as rain.”
Stanley didn’t get a chance to tell him to wait or stop— the world went dark. Everything around him shifted… and the lights rose. He was in his office again, and his legs were no longer tired. He huffed. A little more warning would’ve been nice.
Stepping out of his office, Stanley met the Narrator by the cubicles where he was waiting with his hands clasped behind his back.
“This,” he said officially, “is the story of a man named Stanley.”
Stanley stepped close and kissed him once. ‘And his Narrator.’ He signed with a smile. The Narrator rolled his eyes behind pink-tinted glasses.
“Yes, yes… the story of a man named Stanley… and his Narrator.”