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The bucket. All the problems faded away from Stanley’s mind when he held the bucket. So, it was a normal run, and he grabbed the bucket, walking to the two doors. The floor was covered in papers, a sign that there was the “New new content” sign where one of the doors were.
Stanley hummed softly bringing the bucket to the new new content area. He had a goal. Two buckets. He knew how to manipulate Narrator. He just had to start crying. He walked through all of the boring stuff, and soon made it to the area.
“Oh no- two buckets-” Narrator started, before Stanley sighed, clutching his bucket tightly. “Both. I want both.” Stanley said cutting Narrator off.
“Stanley- having two buckets would be too much for your mental health- it’d be-” He was cut off with a loud sob. “Fine fine!- You can have the second bucket!” Narrator said with a huff.
Stanley grinned wildly, grabbing the second bucket and clutching them both to his chest. He felt complete calm. He felt perfect. He loved the buckets. The buckets reigned supreme.
“Erm- Stanley- I’m glad you stopped crying, but are you ok?” Narrator asked, concern clearly laced in his voice. All he got in response was a silent nod as the man walked out of the room.
Stanley knew if he left the new new content area he’d lose the second bucket. So he wanted to make the most of it. This was the most relaxed he had been in ages. If only he could take the bucket to the zen room. He’d never leave.
“Stanley- you keep zoning out- perhaps I should take a bucket-” Narrator said to which he got a growl in reply. Stanley walked over to the merch area, still just growling at the thought of losing his current calm.
The Narrator sighed, realizing he had made a huge mistake. After a few minutes, he appeared behind Stanley. “Give me one of the buckets Stanley.”
The brown haired man proceeded to move the other bucket so they’d both be on one arm, before punching the narrator as hard as he could in the face, in an attempt to knock him out.
Stanley, was somehow successful with one hit, probably because the man wasn’t used to pain, wasn’t prepared, and clearly had other things on his mind.
Suddenly, an idea formed in Stanley’s mind. A way to get more buckets. He grabbed some of the merch shirts, and tied up narrator, dragging him to a chair, and redoing his bindings. He patiently waited for him to wake up.
It took about ten minutes for narrator to start to regain consciousness. “Mm, Stanley?” He asked moving- wait no, his arm was tied up. He started struggling to free his arms, and heard a dark tone.
“I want more. Give me more.” The brown haired man said, venom lacing his words. He gestured to the two buckets just to make sure the man didn’t misunderstand.
“Wouldn’t you rather another person?-” Narrator asked meekly. He knew this wouldn’t turn out well.
“No. They’d try to steal my precious buckets, like you did. Give me more to make up for it.” Stanley growled at the tied up man.
“No!- I’d rather take one away- … Stanley- please don’t cry- you’re getting so obsessive over the buckets, and you’re lucky I’m not taking them both away! I told you this would happen!” Narrator said with a huff, shaking his head.
“I want more buckets!-” Stanley then shouted at him, wanting to slowly collect an army.
“Well, I see. You’ve left me no choice.”
[The End Is Never The End]
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“This is the story of a man named Stanley.”
“GODDAMNIT NARRATOR!-”